


Hell Hath No Fury

by usherrthaaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Angsty Draco Malfoy, BAMF Hermione Granger, Danger, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Funny, Head Boy/ Head Girl, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Humor, Mystery, POV Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Soul Bond, Soul Mate Magic, Swearing, Violence, slowburn, snarky Draco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 68,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10035785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/usherrthaaa/pseuds/usherrthaaa
Summary: The last place Draco Malfoy thought he'd end up in after the war was Hogwarts, as their 'Eighth Year' Head Boy, working together with none other than the bane of his academic existence, Mudblood Granger. But petty school rivalries and archaic prejudices are hastily buried along with the hatchet when an old, powerful magic is awakened within the school. Of course, what with one third of the Troublesome Trio now in his life, Draco finds himself right in the heart of the danger- except this time he has a scarily powerful witch by his side... and his father will definitely not be hearing anything about it.





	1. Humiliation

**Author's Note:**

> Hi reader! this started as a prompt for a soulmate AU that i reworked until it was full with as many twists as my dramatic self could handle! Hope you guys like it!? Leave a comment if you do and I'll try my beszt to upload regularly. Also, NOTE the chapters are long- because i like long, droning things- so yeah. please don't leave.  
> smol NOTE- Draco swears, there will be scary things described scarily, Hermione is sO badass and so many cute magical animals? so many? 
> 
> anyway... on to chapter one!

01\. Humiliation

He'd already extensively explored methods in which the future could be pried out of the stars, and he'd even spent a good five minutes on horoscope trivia which was four minutes too many. He didn't even know why he'd chosen this elective honestly- he should never have dropped out of Ancient Runes for this rubbish. Bluffing was second nature to him and he very rarely was at a loss for words, but presenting an exam about utter nonsense was stretching his verbal abilities a touch further than they could reach as of yet. Especially since the entire thing carried a hefty three quarters of marks for the final NEWT exam for Divination. Trelawney was officially mad and one would think he were too, yet there was a ways to go before he could truly be marked as bonkers as she was. He still had a handle on his words at least. 

Well that was until his mind completely shut down and all it could think of was .... _sex_.

Lots and lots of it. Steamy, crazy, painful looking graphics that confused him as much as shocked the living daylights out of his poor head. It was embarrassing really, how graphic it was. The worst part was he didn't even know where it all had come from. He had to slam his lips shut and clam up in front of the examiners board and his fellow students, and rightly so for no one- NO ONE- should ever witness a Malfoy squirming. Not that he could even do such a thing.   
It took all his self-control and Slytherin honed skills to regain his composure and falsely extrapolate on the potential magic in the stars and exactly how the ancient magic contained itself among the intricate patterns of specific horoscopes. Yet while he rambled on, in his nonchalant, droning tone, his mind kept producing raunchy scenes like as if a novel was being flipped through in his mind despite his body not being in on it. 

"Sorry, Mister Malfoy- what was that?"

The interruption came from the high table ahead of him, towering twice as high as he for no good reason other than to probably strike fear in the hearts of the students. Clearly they hadn't realised how much Hogwarts' "Eighth Year" students had been through, for a mere piece of elevated furniture wasn't about to strike fear into any of them; not even Longbottom after his stunt with that sword. 

"What was what?" Draco wanted to say, however he pursed his lips and wrung out a distasteful look that hinted at the fact that this interruption would be mentioned to his father but not overtly so that anyone could call him childish. It was a glare several years in the making and was mostly a reflex. It's not like his father would be hearing anything from where he was. 

"Beg your pardon?" he asked instead, eyes flitting in a snakelike manner, feeling riled up by both the interruption and the fleeting thought of the Malfoy patriarch.

"Just a clarification, young man," another examiner intervened, frowning down his nose at the Slytherin. "You were saying that the history of such magic within horoscopes runs so far back that it possibly outdates even horoscopes themselves ... oh mother of Morgana?"

Draco truly wished he could be mortified that he'd mindlessly blurted out such a line, but sadly the scenes in his head hadn't faltered in the least. 

"Sorry?" he queried vaguely instead, trying to buy time. 

"That's what you said... is it not?"

"No."

... "No?"

"No, I don't believe so."

The images in his mind twisted vividly and he had to clench his fists to keep his face from reacting to what he saw in his mind's eye.

"Pray tell what it was you actually said, Mister Malfoy."

The examiners seemed exasperated. 

"What I meant to say was... horoscopes as we know them to be now."

Someone from the examining panel seated at the high table before him, quirked a brow. The students behind them snickered, but Draco ignored them steadfastly and met the examiners' curious gazes head on with a sneer. 

"Very well then," one of them sighed heavily after a few minutes spent facing off, before scribbling a note on his papers. 

Damn _Merlin_ … that must have been a deduction. _Damn this stupid thing in my head_ , Draco cursed silently, begging for the racy show in his mind to end. _Where had it even come from?_ he worried to himself, rambling on for the rest of his allotted time with as much conviction as he could muster. He couldn't fail Divination of all subjects! His mother would be so terribly upset, he realised belatedly. Damn the stupid story in his head. He'd never seen it before in his life and he'd be damned if he couldn't figure out where it had come from. This was some hocus pocus of the most mischievous kind and Draco Malfoy was going to find out who'd done such a thing to distract him and make them pay twice over, or so Salazar help him, he would burn this school.   
He would not get a T in Divination- the closest a Malfoy would get to a T was probably if it was with the Queen.

* * *

 

The portrait to the Heads' Common Room slammed open under his palm, jarring the griffin from its perch within the painting and causing it to lapse into a fit of discomfort that would've been loud if not for the Silencing spell Draco had placed upon it the first day he moved in as Head Boy.   
He grimaced at the sight of the mythical creature's glare as the portrait swung shut slowly. Stupid animal looked ridiculous with its serpentine lower half and the top of an eagle. Someone had mentioned it was supposed to symbolise duality in Celtic mythology- as if the griffin with its eagle and serpentine qualities didn't throw enough hints to make even Longbottom understand. They should've tossed a random badger into the painting just to humour them. Bloody House unity nonsense.

The Heads' Room had been relocated in the rebuilding of Hogwarts and now stood proudly in conjunction with the new tower that now housed the Slytherins- elevating them from their cold, slimy dungeons. At least the few that decided to return- or were capable of doing so at that matter. There was a measly turn up of three "Eighth Year" Slytherins; namely Blaise Zabini and Millicent Bulstrode- both of whom seemingly had very little part in the Dark Side's cause- and Draco Malfoy himself. Why he'd returned wasn't known to anyone and even he himself was beginning to question his own past self’s sanity regarding the matter. The letter with the Head Boy badge had surprised him when it arrived during the summer of 1982. A year after the war, and with many rifts left wide open within the wizarding society of England, the school of witchcraft and wizardry decided to welcome back its student for a new school year in its newly restored halls. McGonagall had taken the reigns as Head Mistress and Draco Malfoy found himself returning to his alma mater in search of a distraction. Anything to deviate his mind from the darkness of his home which was all consuming, and the crumbling remains of his family. With Lucius in prison and Narcissa grasping at the fraying threads of her sanity, Draco found it fitting for the Malfoy heir to hightail it to his old school. The school whose previous Head Master he'd attempted to assassinate. The school whose destruction he'd initiated by letting the Death Eaters in. The school which, unsurprisingly, had welcomed him back with prestigious responsibility and a shiny badge that was too pure to sit across his lapel. He'd thought resuming his education was a brilliant plan irrelevant to how suspicious his acceptance had seemed… although he now regretted it slightly, because not only was it excruciatingly difficult passing Dumbledore's portrait every day, attempting to ignore his loony grin and persistent greetings... it was even worse sharing a dorm with Mudblood Granger of the Superhero Squad. 

The Gryffindor in question was staring at him from across the common room, where she was perched in the chair she'd claimed as her own- which had been possible only because he let her stake her claim as he'd had no interest in speaking to her more than he had to.  
She looked like she was struggling against the urge to _question_ him and he sneered as she decided against it, albeit reluctantly.   
Did he hate Mudblood Granger? No. Of course not. The two of them had gone through several different forms of hell the last year that the importance of petty school rivalry waned in the shadow of the war. Did he like her? Salazar, no! He did not hold her in a higher regard than before and neither were they chums or mates or pals or anything bordering frien,dship. There was tolerance he could tell, thinking back to their run in at the train. Sure... he tolerated her presence. They could be civil. After all they were quite indisputably the brightest students at Hogwarts in their year. Yet he saw the glint of resentment in her eyes when he pulled back his hair, and he couldn't help but jerk away if they ever came into contact. Simple things really- knee jerk reactions from a troubling past- yet the actions spoke volumes. And even Granger wasn't enough of a diligent bookworm to work through the tome that was their history.   
So he ignored her despite the occasional idle conversation, and she left him to his devices, or so she claimed.   
He'd not even taken six more steps in the room when she spoke up. 

"Alright, Malfoy?"

He always cringed internally when he heard her speak. Granger sounded the same honestly- spitting out words with an irritating calm superiority that was tailed by vague shrill notes that threatened to escape if anyone enraged her. Yet somehow, as if by some wicked act of his ancestors for being such a pansy Death Eater, he swore he could hear a strange hoarseness in her words. The flashback to his marble stairs was brief, and was becoming less clear over time, but there was no question to what he was thinking back to whenever she spoke. 

"'Course Granger," he muttered, slinging his book bag across the room. 

It landed squarely on the futon by the fireplace to no one's surprise. 

Ignoring her tight-lipped glare at his careless handling of school books, he stalked into his room to snatch his secret stash of candy. 

"Doesn't seem so," her voice drifted into the room. 

Rolling his eyes while letting loose a few chocolate frogs, Draco pointed a glare in her direction as he strolled back into the common room. 

"Mind your own business, Granger" he warned. 

"I won't when your food is hopping around in my stuff!"

He watched as one frog hopped wildly off the coffee table, and with Seeker quick reflexes he snatched it out of the air and ate it.

"Toying with your food isn't dignified, Malfoy," Granger pointed out as she flicked a frog off her quill.

Draco snorted; catching the flying frog and munching on its torso. "That riotous mane of yours is what's undignified, Granger, but you don't hear anyone say anything about that do you?"

She shot him a glare. "Yes. You do. All the time."

“Oh go back to the library, bookworm."

"If you were an efficient Head Boy today you'd know the library is out of order," she sniffed. "A shelf tipped over and knocked a few others."

He stared at her for a few seconds; the chocolate frogs' hopping becoming squishy as they lost their shape in the warmth of the room.

"Funnily, Granger, that's something only you'd know. I'm not sure even McGonagall knows." 

Waving off her offended huff he continued, "Plus I had a Divination exam."

Granger frowned, absentmindedly twisting off a frog's leg. "I thought the paper was last Friday?"

"This was the oral exam."

"A presentation?" she exclaimed. "Oh how delightful! I can't believe none of the other professors have adopted this! How is it I didn't know?"

Draco scowled at her exuberance. Only the Gryffindor Princess would be excited at the prospect of speaking to a classroom. Attention seeking whore.

"Whatever, Granger. It wasn't all that fantastic, I'll have you know. The class were right arseholes. Especially that Dean blighter."

"Dean is lovely," Granger chided. "What ever happened?"

"Nothing."

She gave him a few seconds of respite before sighing at his silence.

"I'll hear it from the rumour mills anyway and the story would be a hundred times worse."

"Don't care," he grunted, irritation buzzing just beneath his skin.

She seemed to sense this. "Suit yourself, Malfoy. Now clean up your frogs; they're melting." 

"Don't boss me around, Mudbl-," 

"And keep your voice _down_ , honestly, I'm trying to read!" she said dismissively, turning back to her books.

With barely any forethought, he squinted at the piles of books before the Head Girl. Of course Granger was reading. Something else niggled at his brain.

"What could Mudblood Granger be reading that's so interesting, eh?" he asked, as suggestively as he dared.

She raised a careful brow at his tone and stifled a snort. She'd stopped reacting to his preferred slur long since, plus he didn't say it with any heat anyway. It was a silent barrier reminding the other that no matter how much they conversed or how easily, this was nothing more than duress due to their rooming condition.

"There's nothing so _tantalising_ about homework, you twit," she snickered. "But if that's what strokes your wand."  

Malfoy recoiled at her purposeful choice of words and snarled in retaliation. "Don't be disgusting! Plus no one returns to their schoolwork so hastily, how can I be sure that's what you're up to?" 

"Yes Malfoy, these are textbooks- HEY!" she trailed off, lunging at him when he plucked the book she'd been highlighting right out of her hands. 

"This whole page is yellow Granger! It’s disastrous!" he exclaimed upon peering into the open book.

"It's just highlighter, you stupid oaf!" Granger retorted, reaching for her book. 

"Ah those tiny colourful... tubes of yours. Doesn't explain why you defaced your lovely romance novella."

"It's Ancient Runes, Malfoy- not a novella! Can you even read?!"

"What will Madam Pince think of you now, Granger?"

"URGH, you insolent little FERRET! There's a charm on the ink that makes it impermanent, _obviously_! Now... give. Me. Back. My. Book!"

"High talk about magic, coming from a Mudblood!" Draco snarked, waving the book higher as she scratched at his arms.

He sighed at her desperate attempts to retrieve her book. 

"Are you, or are you not a witch, Granger?" he asked tiredly, just as the Gryffindor snapped "Accio, Ancient Runes textbook!" 

He raised a brow at her pout but said nothing more. Granger retreated to her table, muttering. 

"If you wanted to study Runes you shouldn't have taken up stupid Divination."

He nearly chuckled at the vehemence with which she spat out the last word. Nearly. Instead he shrugged and squashed a chocolate frog into the hardwood floor before stomping back to his room. 

* * *

  
_So that didn’t work_ , he mused as he flopped with a certain grace onto his silk sheets and lay sprawled there in exhaustion. Talking to Granger always drained him a little even though he'd never breathe a word of it to anyone, and that, with the added stress of the humiliating presentation, left him wrung out. He hadn't intended on listing Granger as a suspect, but the mention of reading had sparked an unconscious interest in him. It was a well known fact that Granger was a prolific reader, and whatever had been playing in his head during the exam had been a story. It had very little to it in terms of plot, but Draco could identify racy drivel when he saw one. Someone must have cursed him to be plagued by a sordid erotica novel in hopes he’d mess up or cause some sort of scene. The idea of being anyone’s entertainment made him seethe. It didn’t explain the visual imagery he’d received though. A picture only captured a second or two of a moment at best, and what he’d seen had been a very extensive chapter at the very least. And the detail… ugh. The vision had been sloppy, almost as if whoever cast the spell had been unsure of what they were transmitting. Maybe they’d gathered the material from a written source and magically translated it into a scene. Draco had never before heard of witchcraft of that sort. Couldn’t have been a very old charm, he frowned. They’d have moved far beyond having only pictures with a mere second or two of movement if there were a way to charm text into moving pictures. Draco huffed in displeasure. This probably meant he needed to spend some time at the Library. He spent a moment wondering if it would have been updated after the war, before realising that Granger had mentioned that the Library had been temporarily closed earlier in the day.

Damn it.

Granger would probably know how to solve this one herself, he scowled to himself, briefly contemplating the benefits of revealing his humiliation to the Gryffindor. He quickly shook himself before he could fully analyse the option and lurched out of bed. The incident during the exam had been awful, but it definitely paled in the darkness of the other curses he’d experienced. Whoever cast this upon him didn’t want to hurt him- it had probably been just for laughs. While the idea infuriated him no less, it did however mean that it wasn’t worth the stressful investigation. He’d just scowl at everyone the next day and call it even. For now, he had duties to attend to.

* * *

 

Somehow, the Care of Magical Creatures class had managed to cling onto Hogwarts’ new Ministry approved schedule and Hagrid’s hut had been upgraded into a modest stone cabin that still lurked just outside the Forbidden Forest. Of course the Ministry approval had only been tacked on to lure parents to ignore their obviously well-grounded suspicions as to the school’s safety and send their kids back for the new year. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that Hogwarts was using him as much as he thought he was using the school.

 _Look_ , the school board would proclaim pompously when questioned, _we are attempting reformation_. We, Hogwarts, are mending wizarding society by every action we take. Look at our Death Eater Head Boy and our Mudblood Head Girl- unified in responsibility, just like the rest of our student body. We’re just fantastic, the lot of us. There are no more monsters in our basements but the Forbidden Forest is still lethal enough to be Forbidden and the stairs will most certainly keep moving and hurt at least one of you.

The amount of concern the Minister had spewed over reformation and forgiveness on their first day back at school had nearly made Draco vomit. Of course the unification process hadn’t ended there. Much to Draco’s _immense pleasure_ the Headmistress had decided that Hagrid would require special assistance if Care of Magical Creatures was to be taken seriously and the perfect candidate had been the same person who’d been attacked as a child by a wild creature in the very same class. As if the position of Head Boy didn’t require so much of him already. Irony sure as poetic as it was demanding. Every day Draco had to rush for class, hand in whatever work he’d managed to complete, pair up with Granger to teach Potions to the small batch of First Years, study, supervise whatever team was practising on the grounds depending on the day, sit for an exam if he had one, hurry over to Hagrid to cuddle whatever godawful creature he had locked away in his cabin and then rush back into school for patrol duty. It was reflective moments like these when he had an armful of baby dragon that he loved to stop and wonder why on _earth_ he’d thought returning to Hogwarts was a good idea. Then the bundle of joyous lethal reptile in his arms would snort a flame and his hair would singe and he’d remember all he’d wanted back then was a distraction and that was exactly what he’d received. 

Biting back a string of curses, he tackled the fussing creature so that it faced away from his face and kicked the door to the cabin open with his foot. Hagrid looked up from where he was crouching in the pumpkin patch at the sound. The Hebridean Black struggling in Draco’s arms perked at the sight of the half- Giant and instantly attempting to fly itself over to him, infantile wings flapping ineffectively.

“Draco,” Hagrid called, squinting in the sunlight. “Yer can’t bring ‘er out ‘ere, lad. It’s too new an’ strange.”

The Sytherin huffed back, shifting the dragon’s weight uncomfortably from arm to arm.

“And don’t carry ‘er around so much, yer spoiling th’ poor girl,” Hagrid chuckled, dusting his hands off on his trousers before ambling over. “Alright, what’s wrong?”

“She’s being fussy,” Draco said, shortly.

Hagrid belted out a laugh at that, eyeing him with a cheery grin before leaning over to run an affectionate finger down the dragon’s snout.

The creature seemed to chortle at the action and let its weight drop suddenly as it stopped trying to fly away from Draco and settled comfortably into his arms. Hagrid watched the boy struggle to carry the full weight of the hatchling and smiled in assistance.  

“Yer spoling ‘er,” was all he said.

Draco scowled in return. “She’s heavy Hagrid, hurry up. She’s refusing to stay in the pen. Set fire to it actually.”

“Class didn’ go too well earlier, ‘ees probably homesick,” the half- Giant replied candidly, stepping around them to head into the cabin. “Did yer put out th’ fire then?”

Draco snorted in reply, huffing from the weight of the dragon baby he was toting around like a hand maiden. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Hagrid said, smilingly, “That I’m lucky I don’ ‘ave that wooden hut anymore. Awfully flammable that was, herher.”

“Just take her already,” Draco sighed, arms tiring under the strain.

The Hebridean Black hatchling was heavier than most according to the leaflet Charlie Weasley had sent along with the dragon, and it was natural so they apparently needn’t worry. But worry Draco did, because his arms were sore already and he’d only been carrying her around for five minutes or so.

“Yer too soft, Draco,” Hagrid offered helpfully, clearing away the charred remains of the metal pen with his wand and ignoring the Head Boy’s pleas. “I’ll have to fix a new one for this gal- take ‘er outside if yer want, it’ll take some time.”

“I thought you just said I couldn’t take her outside?”

“Well yer could stay an’ help if yer want, lad- but yer look about t’ drop dead,” Hagrid reasoned with a wry smile, as he _accio_ ’d several extra metal bars from a corner. “So go on out. Get some sun, eh?”

Huffing, Draco left, ignoring the dragon’s puffy mewls and the smoke that accompanied the sounds. It twisted and turned in his arms as they moved around the building, obviously wanting to be back with Hagrid. The little creature had arrived yesterday with a keeper from Charlie Weasley’s reserve with special instructions and whatnot, and while they were to only keep it for a term, the hatchling didn’t seem to want to be here at all. It had cried the whole of last night since its keeper had left and Draco was immensely grateful that he only had to help Hagrid during this period of time, and not the rest of the day. 

“Shut it, already,” he panted, before setting her down into the grassy clearing behind Hagrid’s building that stretched for a few feet before the Forest began. The hatchling giddily loped around in circles, occasionally falling face first into the grass before backtracking and charging towards the ground again. It was anything but graceful due to the unhelpful distribution of baby fat in all the wrong places and luckily, like most dragon hatchlings, this pup was as aerodynamic as an apple.

Which didn’t explain why one was sailing at his head that very moment.

Startled, he stepped back, only to trip over the baby dragon that was intent on mowing the lawn with her face and nearly stumble to the ground, but he caught himself at the last moment and snatched the apple out of the air before it hurt the dragon and triggered another fit.

“Sorry!” someone exclaimed, and by the way the hair on the back of his neck rose he could tell who it was.

“Trying to kill me off where there are no witnesses, eh Granger?”

She frowned at him as she made her way over, books clutched in one arm, free hand balanced on one hip. “Certainly not, Malfoy. Hagrid said you’d be here. The apple is for Olc- whoever that is.”

At the mention of her name the dragon pup sniffed the air excitedly, vivid violet eyes alighting on Granger. It hovered by Draco’s feet, unsure of the stranger’s status as friendly or otherwise. Draco supposed he had to alleviate the concern quickly or else the hatchling would come to a conclusion of its own and it wouldn’t end well.

“Granger’s good, little one… don’t bother her,” he said, darting his eyes from the dragon to watch the Gryffindor’s face.

“Oh my,” she gasped as she caught sight of the hatchling. “She’s beautiful! Oh wait- Olc… I get it now.”

Scowling at him, she crouched down to waggle her fingers at the silent hatchling. “Do you deserve to be the personification of ‘bad’?” she asked in a high pitched voice. “I don’t think so, you look so beautiful. You should be named after something wonderfully pretty!”

“Stop squealing, Granger,” Draco admonished. “And this here is a Hebridean Black, traditionally from the _Hebrides_.”

“So?” she trailed off, squinting up at him.

“That’s off _Scotland_ ,” he prompted, rolling his eyes at her apparent ignorance.

The understanding in her eyes was almost palpable. “Right, so you wouldn’t name the poor creature after the _Irish_ word for bad. And a Scottish island known for breeding something as old as dragons would mean… Gaelic communities?” she worried her bottom lip irritatingly as she thought and then stopped abruptly, barked out a laugh, and then rose to her feet; books safely tucked under her arm. “She’s barely a month old she can’t be _evil_.”

He shrugged. 

“It’s not nice, Malfoy- you’re judging the creature before you even know what she’s like.”

“Not my problem, Granger, and neither is it yours. Was there a reason as to why you’re here or are you just visiting?”

 “Is it just cause she’s midnight black and all? Or you’re probably just projecting,” the witch snarled. “What did Hagrid have to say?”

“He’s the one that named the damned creature,” Draco spat back, stiff with anger. “What the _hell_ is your problem, Granger? It’s just a dragon- it doesn’t have to live up to its name… what kind of bullshit are you off about now?”

“Oh.”

She’d paled considerably in the face of his seething anger- all the pent up frustration from earlier had decided to seep out of his very pores, clouding the air between them with a thick, tense aura. Between them both Olc yipped at Granger and occasionally darted forward to nip at her shoes.

“I- I thought-,”

“What?” he sneered back, fussing with the apple in his hand distractedly. “Thought I’d named the stupid animal something dark and depressing? That’s very obviously an opening for you to butt in, ain’t it Granger?”

“I- I’m sorry,” she said hurriedly, making him pause uncomfortably. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

With that she fled across the small clearing and hastily hiked back up the slope that led away from Hagrid’s cabin. Draco grunted in annoyance and tipped his head back to glare at the sky, fingers twining at the back of his head to grasp at his hair in frustration.

The dragon at his feet flicked intelligent eyes up at Draco and back to where the stranger had gone and whined a little in confusion. Silly humans couldn’t figure out whether they were friends or not. The girl human looked friendly enough, but then she’d run away from them so something must be wrong. Maybe the nice boy human friend would go fix it. Olc liked him. He always hugged her and moved her around and that was weird but he probably thought it was nice- that’s how kind he was- so she whined a little louder in hopes of getting him to go fix whatever had happened. A round red fruit suddenly fell into the dragon’s periphery and she promptly gave up on her attempt at an intervention and began to bat at the newcomer.   

“Stupid dragon,” Draco muttered as he watched the creature toy with the fruit.

He heard rather than saw Hagrid amble over toward them. “Pen’s ready when yer lot are,” he called, wand in hand and a glance of concern in his beetle black eyes.

Draco trudged back towards him, following Olc who’d already bounded ahead excitedly. Hagrid laughed, swooping down like a wave to smother the dragon with his meaty palms. The pup mewled like a damned cat at the affections and as he watched, Draco felt the energy drain out of him. His arms felt like lead and he wished he had kept the apple so he could have snacked on it. Hagrid was busy scratching Olc’s tummy but he kept some food in a closet at the building and he would probably share if asked-

Hagrid was no longer there.

The shift happened so suddenly Draco hadn’t realised until he’d looked around for the teacher and the dragon. He wasn’t in the clearing anymore and the building Hagrid used wasn’t up ahead. He was in some sort of room where the sunlight filtered through a single window to his left but before he could gather some bearing the view shifted and he was staring at a book. The pages flipped as if he was flipping them and words passed by in his mind as if he were thinking them. They materialised on the paper as a hand scratched them out in ink with a quill. It felt disembodied. He was thinking about writing and he could see things been written but physically he was still standing still in the clearing, grass under his feet and the sun on his face. Then suddenly the mood shifted and a piercing intensity shot through his mind. The hand at the book scribbled over whatever had been written, scratching and scraping away with thick inky strokes until the page was swelling with dark pools of ink that stained the fingers and seeped through the page and onto the other side. The intensity in his head roared into a stifling cacophony of silent screaming and the page tore under the wrath of the quill’s iron nib and there was Hagrid, too close for comfort, peering into his face with worry.

“Alright there, Draco?” he asked carefully, arms full of Olc who was nipping at the Slytherin’s shirt sleeve.

Draco snatched his arm away from the dragon’s questing teeth and nodded hastily. “Quite alright. If there’s nothing else Hagrid, I shall get to class.”

The teacher looked as if he wanted to question him further but gave up after a moment of searching Draco’s eyes and finding nothing but practised nonchalance. 

“See yer tomorrow then, lad,” Hagrid said as a way of parting and waited and watched as Draco nodded and stalked back towards the castle, hands dug deep into his trouser pockets and shoulders rigidly held high in an obvious show of arrogance. The boy had only worked with him for a week but he’d shown promise with the animals. What he lacked in enthusiasm he made up for with skill, tact and intellect. Hagrid was half hoping to offer the position as a job for the summer if he kept it up, but whatever had happened just now had put the ice back into the lad’s eyes and that wouldn’t melt even if the prettiest dragon baby wanted it to.

* * *

 

Patrol duty was really the most time Draco got to relax in his hectic school schedule and judging by the list one of the junior prefects had warily handed to him, it was about to get worse. McGonagall had seemingly decided it best to host a function in the Great Hall in memory of the war and he and Granger had a list of tasks that was so long it only made sense that it also be a month’s worth of grocery needs for the entire school. Unfortunately it wasn’t, and his first thought was to find Granger and split the responsibilities. Then he realised that that was probably what she’d come to talk to him about earlier so he resolutely stuck to his patrol route and after an hour or so of mindlessly wandering the corridors, he tried to puzzle out the strange vision he’d had earlier.

Only it wasn’t a vision, was it? He’d genuinely felt that he’d been writing, mentally at least. The text had swum in his mind as if he’d conjured the thought up himself.  Just like the sordid scene from his presentation, the vision was accompanied by thoughts that weren’t his. Strangely, the second most recent vision or premonition or _whatever_ , had been completely harmless. That put him back to square one. He was no closer to finding out who was behind this and in fact, he was further behind. This last incident was too basic to be for laughs. Plus the only person who’d seen him was Hagrid and he’d looked worried out of his tiny half- Giant brain.

Grunting in annoyance, Draco screwed his eyes shut and walked back to the Head’s Common Room in hope of a good night’s sleep. He ran into Patil and Boot, both Prefects from Ravenclaw who tolerated him as much as they needed to and gave him a wide berth otherwise- an action that he both appreciated and respected. They nodded at him tersely as he passed by and continued on their way.

“Oh, wait, Malfoy,” Draco heard Patil call, and rolling his shoulders tiredly he spun around to face her.

“We confiscated a few bottles of Firewhiskey off Zabini, thought you’d like to know,” Padma said, ignoring his reluctant look of attention.

“That it?” Draco asked, tired eyes focusing into a well-honed glare.

“Um well, there’s also the seventy points deducted from Slytherin today, but otherwise… nothing else, no. That’s all,” she smirked back, dark eyes smug.

“What?!”

“Told you he’d freak out,” Terry Boot muttered unnecessarily.

“Damn right I’m flipping out, who the _fuck_ took that many? And what in Merlin’s name were those imbeciles doing to warrant a _hundred_ bloody points?!”

“Told you to let Hermione tell him,” Boot sighed warily, while Padma shrugged.

“I just wanted to see the look on his face and Hermione would never have told us. We’re not sure about the details though,” she added, turning to Draco. “Also I said _seventy_ , not a hundred. Night, Malfoy.”

Draco barely registered the pair of them leaving; already barging down the corridor that led to Slytherin tower and the Head’s dorms. Anger radiated from his very being and he seemed so volatile at the moment that the usually pestering griffin in the Head’s portrait shrunk behind its rock when Draco bellowed the password at it on his way in.

“Granger where the fuck are you?”

The fire in the fireplace hissed and raged in tandem with his thundering heart as he scoured the common room for signs of the witch’s presence. The small kitchenette was the last place he looked into and when it came up empty he stormed over to the door that led to her room and barely restrained himself from touching it.

“Granger, are you in there?” he shouted angrily, balling his fingers into fists that threatened to punch the wall without his consent.

A door creaked open to his right and he spun around at the sound, eyes glaring daggers and mouth twisted. Granger peered through the bathroom door that sat between their respective rooms and frowned at him, wet curls hanging heavily from her scalp and sticking to her neck and bare shoulder.

“I’m _here_ Malfoy, what do you want?” she said, waspishly.

Huh. He hadn’t heard the shower running.

“I was screaming for you for bloody ages, are you deaf?” he sputtered, throwing his arms out for effect.

She raised a brow smoothly at his outburst. “I had loud music on in the shower.”

“Didn’t hear any garbage music.”

“Are you, or are you not a wizard, Malfoy?” she sighed, repeating his own sentiment from earlier today. “Silencing spell. Now what is it? I really value bath time.”

“I couldn’t give two fucks about your bath time, Granger,” he sneered in return, half angry at himself for being so out of control.

 _Seventy_ bloody points though. As if he hadn’t already been having a bad day. It was obvious Slytherin wasn’t going to be winning the House Cup anytime soon, but they had some dignity and last place was for Hufflepuff, _always_.   

“Shouldn’t you be easily accessible or something? I was yelling for hours!” he raved on, needlessly- annoyed irrationally at everything and anything.

“I’m not a bloody house elf, Malfoy and you shouldn’t be yelling at them like this either!” Granger replied loudly, shouldering her way out of the bathroom with her arms crossed over a thick burgundy towel. “Now. What. Do. You. Want?”

“Why’d you take points off Slytherin?” he asked abruptly, arms awkwardly suspended in the air by his hips and eyes averted towards the floor, ceiling, fireplace, anywhere else.

If he’d chanced a glance in the witch’s direction he’d have seen her face twist up in confusion and then relax. “Oh that’s what you’re going bonkers about.”

“Well of course, you dumb bint,” Draco growled mulishy, forgetting himself and cutting his eyes to glare at her. “What else?”

Granger’s reciprocating glare was equally harsh, but then something shifted in her eyes and she averted her gaze. “I thought you were still angry about earlier. I- I really am sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t mean to say anything to hurt you. It’s just- McGonagall told me about this War Memorial event we are to help host- I brought you your copy of our work list- and I guess it just reopened old wounds.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth as she rubbed at the back of her neck with one hand, freakishly long hair now free of curls by the weight of the water in them, dripping steadily onto the floor.  

“Er- well right- Granger,” Draco tried, exhaustion stealing over him from the shadows. “Look, I’m really tired. Just tell me about the points. Why’d you take them? I know you wouldn’t take seventy bloody points for no reason so… fess up.”

The look on Granger’s face was almost comical. She let her hand drop from her neck and flipped the damp hair off her shoulder, sending water droplets racing through the air and reminding Draco just how fresh out of the shower she was.

“I didn’t take any points off Slytherin,” she said slowly.

“Wait, what-,”

“But Ginny did-,”

“Who’s Ginny?”

“Honestly, Malfoy- Ginny?”

“Who in Merlin’s saggy tits-,”

“Ugh. Ew. _Ginny_. Ginny Weasley!”

Recognition dawned and with it a fresh wave of annoyance tackled Draco’s exhaustion to the ground.

“What the hell is Weaslette doing knocking off that many points?” he asked incredulously, the faint throb of a headache knocking around in his skull; like the small boat they use to take you to Azkaban does when the lake is particularly rough.

Granger sighed and walked back into the bathroom, feet slapping wetly on the stone floor. “She said she caught Zabini in the girl’s bathroom.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry Malfoy,” she said sincerely. “Maybe you can take it up with Slughorn?”

He knew very well that she knew that Slughorn hated him more than McGonagall did and would not allow any such thing to be taken up between them.

“Just that? That’s it?”

“Yeah well… he wasn’t supposed to be there,” she offered.

“Urgh. Don’t hog the shower, Granger,” he snapped tiredly, for want of something to say.

She smirked back annoyingly and shut the door in his face. He felt the silencing spell take hold, shimmering quietly before smoothing into reality, and after a few moments he dragged his tired feet away from the bathroom door and into his room.

His arms ached from hauling Olc’s heavy ass around and he’d earned a dozen or so scratches for his care that had torn through his shirt and cut shallowly at his skin. It would heal soon enough but it meant he’d have to roll his sleeves up to sleep comfortably and that meant he’d have to face his own ‘evil’ that sat on his left forearm.

He could sense a sleepless night ahead and snatched a bottle of Dreamless Sleep off a low sitting cabinet and tossed its contents straight into his open mouth. He had a few seconds of lucidity to toe his shoes off and unbutton half his shirt before the potion kicked into his bloodstream and knocked him out soundly. The last thing he remembered was toppling head first into his bed, a flash of something he wasn’t supposed to see, and then darkness.


	2. Inhibition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's chapter two! It's got very little in terms of plot progression and i swear the plot will start rolling soon but it will be by the fourth chapter eheh... that's mostly because i really want to set the environment down as best i can without being too boring. Post War Hogwarts is so much fun to mold and for the story to progress i need the characters to be in their places, so i hope you guys don't mind!

 “... And that is why you have to be extra careful with your ingredients,” Granger lectured as she marched around the classroom, waving her wand as she cast spell after spell around the incident area.

Mike Terrence’s cauldron had erupted magnificently and deposited a quickly growing mass of pinkish cloud on to the classroom floor and Granger had leapt into action almost before it hit the ground. Wand aloft, she lectured the First Year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs while muttering charms under her breath and Draco lounged by the teacher’s table and watched the scene unfold with vague indifference.

A few girls squealed as the Head Girl cleaned up the errant potion and the whole class erupted into applause as soon as it was over. Draco felt the throb of last night’s headache return with a vengeance and it was a blessing that class was almost done for the day.

“Enough,” he snapped, interrupting their cheer. “Three points off Hufflepuff- that’s on you, Termagant.”

“Uh, it’s Terrance, sir-,”

“Sit down Tolland, for Merlin’s sake. The rest of you start taking down notes. This was your first potion and undoubtedly will be your easiest one. For those of you who failed I suggest you start panicking and fail less in the future. Carlow, you cut the roots too thick- use your hands less like your feet and maybe you'll actually brew something next time,” Draco punctuated the sentiment with a subtle lift of a brow. “Youssef...”

The Ravenclaw in question perked at the mention of her surname and immediately slid back down into her seat when Draco’s eyes found her small frame, cowering under her headscarf.

“Nice work, you managed to outshine your Neanderthal classmates by _light-years_. Congratulations, you’re now a swot- Granger must be proud. Ten points for basic intelligence.”

Grange huffed at his dramatics from behind the desk and he ignored her as she shot the class a grin so as to ensure they didn’t take his cynicism seriously.

“See you lot next time, and do please read up as much as you can on brewing- it helps!” Granger called over her shoulder as the two headed out for their own lessons, teaching notes tucked into a binder under her arm.

“Doubt you’ll find any of them in the Library, Granger,” Draco sighed. “Leave off it.”

“There’s no harm in extra reading,” she sniffed imperiously, handing him a sheaf of parchment with a prim nod.

“I’m half sure you give me more homework to grade than you keep for yourself,” Draco muttered, rolling the proffered papers into a cylindrical shape in his hands.

“Yeah, well I’m _positively_ sure you’re trying to be the next Snape but you don’t hear me whining about it.”

“At least be somewhat subtle if you’re being unfair.”

“At least be somewhat original if you’re being a copycat,” she retorted, tongue sticking out from the corner of her mouth; a signal that she thought she was being particularly witty.

“Yeah well I’d be a terrible copycat if I tried to be original at the same time- give it up Granger, you’re no good at this.”

“I’ll assure you,” she mock gasped. “That I can be funny, Malfoy. Plus I was thinking about McGonagall’s Memorial event. I’m sure you would know something about being _distracted_.”

The sideways glance she shot him was brief and barely noticeable, but notice he did.

 _She knows_ , he realised as he watched the witch walk away to whatever class she had next. Oh who was he kidding… he knew she had Arithmancy. And that’s the only time she got to meet that gossip rag Brown.

She’d had breakfast with him in their common room and there hadn’t been any other nosy Gryffindors around then… which meant she probably got her gossip on the way to the First Year’s Potions class and that could’ve been from _anybody_.

Salazar only knows what version of the story she had received. Maybe he’d gone crazy and started hexing the chandelier. Or maybe he’d started crying about how lonely and miserable he was before proclaiming his undying love to Longbottom.

Shaking himself out of the stupor that had come over him, Draco willed his legs to take him in the direction of the Quidditch pitch, telling himself that he didn’t care. Granger wasn’t stupid, she wouldn’t believe whatever strung up version was working the mills today. But that look of pity she toted around for free use was what he was looking to avoid and he hoped to Merlin that she’d be asleep by the time he got back to the dorm.

He sat out his free period on the pitch instead of studying, and lay there in the grass for the team to come by for practise when the time came. He had to make sure all four teams stayed safe while they were in the air- a new mechanism in place to quell the fear in parents’ hearts that their children would fall and break a limb or somehow hurt themselves while in this school. Obviously Hogwarts’ employ of a former Death Eater as their babysitter had been edited out of the brochure.

Lying there in the warming grass Draco wondered whether he was thankful for the political game Shackelbot was trying to play or not. It kept him at Hogwarts and out of the miserable wreck that was the Manor and that was a small mercy from the heavens. But this bubble he’d been sucked into inside the school, where he was allowed to exist in, was bound to pop when he left. He’d go back to being the useless Malfoy heir who was neither a good wizard for the light, nor a good dark one. He’d be a social pariah like his mother and everyone who saw him would see his father.

Like Granger did.

He could tell whenever he tied his hair back that she freaked out. Even possibly had anxiety attacks over it. He couldn’t help it though and neither did he feel inclined to feel sorry. He was not his father, and if people couldn’t see that, that was their issue not his. He was nineteen, confused as hell and lost- led halfway down the wrong path and then abandoned. He supposed he’d live the rest of his life in halves. He’d be accepted here but only because they needed to fix society. He’d be allowed to live in the Manor, get some kind of job- but only because the Ministry could tap into the Malfoy reserves.

Living in halves.

It sounded better than living in the shadow of a maniacal half-blood who was supposed to have died and should have stayed dead.

But sometimes he wondered whether living was worth it and he’d remember how his mother shrank back into herself and only existed. Would he exist, or would he live? He wasn’t sure.

The clouds drifting across the clear blue sky reminded him of puffs of smoke and he fleetingly thought of Olc and how good he was with animals. Well the magical sort at least. Sure he didn’t particularly like Hagrid’s animals or even Granger’s godawful kneazel, but there was something about the way animals loved you back.

Animals didn’t know what he’d done, what he’d been. What we was. They loved him unconditionally, in the stupid way animals did for some reason. Maybe, if he got over his pride, he’d be able to stick around those animals more.

Live a little.

And then the grass near his head crunched loudly as feet gathered near his frame and when he lifted his arm off his eyes and looked into familiar green ones Draco decided he’d rather be back at the Manor, existing as a ghost instead of having to go through what was building up to be an absolutely shitty day.

* * *

 

The glare of the afternoon sun made it nearly impossible to keep watch of the players as they streaked across the pitch, yet Draco tried to track the seven figures best he could. The entire team was awfully pretentious today and were currently attempting as many classic moves as they possibly could in the hour and half they had for practice. Their Beaters had nearly taken out their own Seeker with a Dopplebeater Defence that had been misdirected and no one on the team had even batted an eyelid- each busy with their own over dramatizations of how practice usually went.

All because bloody Potter was here.

He stood too close for comfort, in his Auror robes and a new pair of glasses that made him look much less like himself, if that made any sense. Draco wished he could ignore the git, but every cell in his being was hyperventilating. He needed space. He needed some air. It was ironic considering they were standing out in the open with plenty of space _and_ air to go about.

At least they weren’t talking.

“Ahem.”

Fuck. They were going to talk.

“So… Malfoy,” Scarhead tried, strangely collected about it all.

‘Yeah, Potter?’ Draco said in his own head, not trusting himself to speak.

The silence didn’t deter the Saviour of the Wizarding World. “Heard you were Head Boy.”

“It would seem so,” Draco managed to reply, watching the Gryffindor Keeper nearly fly through the rings himself in a half-arsed attempt to impress Potter.

“It would.”

Draco sincerely hoped the conversation was over. He hadn’t eaten enough at breakfast to stomach this much tension.

“I’m an Auror now,” Potter declared, ineffectually puffing out his chest for some reason.

Draco frowned and almost turned to face him in confusion. “I can see,” he said instead.

“Yes, well,” the boy beside him stuttered, seemingly flailing for words. “I just-,”

What on earth was going on with the git? If he had a breakdown right here, Draco would scream. No _way_ he got to prance into school, toting his shiny Auror badge and then get all iffy about being here. _Flashbacks to the war, my arse_ , Draco scowled inwardly. He didn’t give a shit if his own crazy aunt’s ghost showed up and haunted them both; he was NOT talking to Harry bleeding heart Potter about the war.

“Listen- _Hermione’s_ Head Girl.”

Draco couldn’t get his eyebrows to frown any further than they already were, and irritation boiled on a low flame, deep in his gut.

“Potter, I’d be worried if anyone here _didn’t_ know that,” he snapped in irritation, turning to glare at the shorter boy before whipping his head around to stare mutinously at the still parading Gryffindor Quidditch team. “Now quit stating the obvious, it isn’t interesting in the least.”

“Urgh, what I mean was you share a dorm with my best friend!”

Draco felt like laughing. “This is about Granger.”

Potter flushed and therein laid his answer.

The laughter bubbling inside him thickened into a sensation that threatened to suffocate him and left him feeling sick to the stomach. Potter was threatening him about Granger? After everything else they probably had to hash out?

She got tortured in his own damn house for Merlin’s sake- shouldn’t Potter be off pulling strings at the Ministry to get his ferret ass out of Hogwarts altogether? Why were they squabbling over Granger? They weren’t school kids anymore they’d been through a fucking _war_. Draco didn’t know why he was being so whiny about not having to talk about his transgressions and tried to scream his sentiments at Potter via terrified glare.

The tired, heavy raised brows he received in return put a damper on his swelling panic and when he took a deep breath again he found he could breathe normally again.

“I’ll have to kill you if you hurt her.”

“Calm your tits, Potter. Granger and I are civil, and that’s how it will be,” he managed to say with some confidence and the Golden Boy sighed in reply.

Potter adjusted his stupid new glasses and turned to watch the team as they descended to the pitch, cheering and jostling for attention as they did so. Draco checked his watch impatiently. It was time to head out.

“Everything is different now, isn’t it?”

He nearly missed Potter’s question as he turned to leave, and froze when he realised what it meant.

He swallowed deeply. Yes everything was different- but was it okay? Did Potter think it was worse than before? It couldn’t be worse than when the Dark Lord was wreaking havoc. Why did he care what Potter thought? All terrifying questions and no real answers.

“Draco?” Potter asked clearly, turning around to face him, hands shoved into the pockets of his robes and hair tossed in the late afternoon wind.

He looked serious and tired, the ache of his past saturated his weary gaze and Draco found himself wondering if people saw Potter senior in the man that stood before him.

“Yeah I guess,” he said stupidly, seeing Potter’s searching gaze and shuttering himself to it.

He cast one last glance at the confused and ignored Quidditch team and then swept away, shoulders hunched and head hung. He felt drained and exhausted- sucked dry of every last ounce of energy he had left in his soul like as if a Dementor had consumed him whole. Here he was, running around in school robes while Potter and Weasely were out there saving the world, yet again. War or no war, they’d always be the ones who took at life with passion and energy- and he? He was in the side-lines, making his way through as unnoticeably as he could. Making bad decisions and compromising his own safety even when he thought he was keeping himself safe. He’d never be them.

He’d never be happy like they did- never feel that all-consuming feeling of joy that originated from something like love or kindness and stayed even through the worst times.  He’d never feel fulfilled or complete and he supposed that was how it had to be now.

He was doomed to _exist_ instead of _live_ and he needed to accept that quickly or else he’d start thinking he actually deserved to be here.

* * *

 

The vision hit him during lunch, while he was skewering a piece of lamb with his fork while mentally running through his list of duties for the upcoming event.  The checklist in his head was suddenly wiped from his mind and replaced with Potter.

The back of his head, rather.

Somehow, he was watching Potter enter the Great Hall for lunch, and he was tagging along behind him, mind bursting with nerves.

He couldn’t bring himself to think about anything else other than how much he _needed_ to talk to _Harry,_ so he let the vision continue unhindered. The visual imagery shifted from Potter’s head to pale hands that were wrung nervously by the viewer’s hips- hands that twisted around slim fingers then stretched out from its knots to brush at their skirt. A final urge to run after Potter took over him and then the Great Hall dissolved into his view and he was back at the Ravenclaw table and his diced lamb was hovering halfway to his mouth.

“Malfooy?” Patil was calling, lips quirked in a grin. “You alright there?”

He hastily set his fork down and glanced around the room. Sure enough, the Gryffindor table was raucous with energy and excitement- Potter was here. And in that case, the girl- it was a _girl_ \- must be here as well.

Huh. The person whose thoughts he was seeing was a girl.

 And it wasn’t even a curse- he was actually _seeing_ and _feeling_ her thoughts! How awful. Why on earth would such a thing occur?

“If I’d known he was that interested in Potter I would’ve told Lavender to give up long time ago,” Padma was saying, snickering to the other Ravenclaw beside her.

“Can it, Patil,” Draco sighed.

Ravenclaw table was the best out of the other three and he honestly did _not_ find himself at unease when he had to sit with Patil whenever he was rostered to. It was better than sitting with the Hufflepuffs- everyone there were either dead scared of him or way too chummy. The Slytherins ate and existed in Hogwarts with a certain doomsday-esque aura about them and it was depressing even on a good day.  Gryffindor table meant one more meal to be shared with Granger and he wasn’t all too ecstatic about that, so if Padma started making him out to be a pansy he’d have to stick to Slytherin table for the rest of the year and he did not want to do that.

“Whatever you say boss,” she smirked, lazily poking at her food. “Gonna eat that meat or are you drooling over someone else’s?”

Her innuendo did not sail over the Ravenclaws’ heads as he hoped, and soon everyone was snickering.

“Just because you’re vegetarian and gay doesn’t mean you get to be salty about all the meat in the world, Patil,” he glowered, stabbing his lamb viciously when the Ravenclaws around him whistled at his barb.

“Ouch, Malfoy,” Padma laughed, clutching her left breast. “I’ll be sure to tell all my girlfriends that _the_ Draco Malfoy caught me being salty about his meat.”

“Please,” he scoffed back, killing the growing smile on his face with a quick sneer. “Anyone with half a brain knows you’re not getting any- and this table has more brain than it has sexual urges.”

“Says our resident Slytherin sex god?” Patil managed say before guffawing so loudly the other Ravenclaws had to join in.

Even Draco could feel a blush rise. Stupid fucking rumour mill. “Sex god or no, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a repressed virgin, Patil.”

“Oh yeah- cause your sex life is beyond _astronomical_!”

Aw shit.

“Yeah don’t think we don’t know about your _Divine_ Moment,” she cackled.

“It’s not like I bloody resurrected in that damn exam. I just forgot a line,” Draco groused, swallowing big gulps of his grape juice.

“That’s not what we heard,” Padma snorted. “Tell him, Edgar.”

Edgar, a Sixth Year, poked his freckled face across the table to be seen and launched into a full tirade in his awful Scottish accent. “… And the teachers had to escort him out before he went into cardiac arrest-,”

“I bloody well did _not_ have a life threatening fantasy during an exam- Patil what the fuck?” Draco snapped, colouring a deep beet red that undoubtedly clashed with his hair.

The Indian only snorted in reply, face straining with unadulterated glee. “That’s ok Malfoy- I won’t ask who it was about.”

“I wasn’t fantasizing about anyone!”

“Oh wow- um ok, I’ll come back later.”

Draco snapped his head up in mortification just in time to see Granger squirm away, frizzy curls bouncing as she fled.

Drat. He scowled at Padma, who lost her shit laughing, and dragged himself to his feet before the Gryffindor could get too far.

“Granger wait up,” he huffed, pulling his robes on over his shirt as he jogged after her, using the time to scan the room for as many people he could find who fit the few features he’d seen in his vision. Far too many pale faces and hands that belonged to people in skirts flashed by as he ran and Draco found himself outside the Great Hall a little sooner than he had intended.

“Granger, would it kill you to walk a little slower?” he grunted, rolling his eyes when she spun around to face him with a wild look in her eyes.

“Ah! You,” she squeaked, cringing at her own voice.

“Sorry I’m not your beloved Potter, but you did come all the way to see me,” he sighed, slowing to a stroll until he was stood before her.

They stood there in silence for some time; Granger looking perplexed and flushed, hands bunching the sides of her robes near her thighs while he watched her squirm with less satisfaction and more awkwardness. They stood like that in the corridor for a few excruciating seconds, until Granger broke.

“Um- sorry if I wasn’t supposed to hear about that,” she blurted suddenly.

Draco sighed. “What did you want Granger.” 

“Right,” she said, snapping to attention. “McGonagall wanted us to meet Madam Pince in the Library.”

“They fixed those shelves yet?” he asked as he walked past her, peering over his shoulder to watch her perk up and follow.

“Yeah I stopped by to check on the progress in the morning- it should be done now,” she said with confidence.

“I’m not even going to ask why you did that,” Draco snorted, shoving his hands into his pockets and slowing his pace so she could keep up. “Libraries don’t need checking up on.”

“Don’t be a prat,” she scowled. “Anyway, you wouldn’t know otherwise that the shelves didn’t fall over because they were old, they were knocked over. By some student.”

“Wonder of wonders.”

“Yeah well,” she sniffed. “It is quite a wonder because whoever it was managed to topple over four shelves! And don’t be mean or I won’t tell you these things.”

“Surely Madam Pince is going to tell us now, we’re going there to help her replace the books aren’t we?”

“Like she’d tell _you_ ,” Granger laughed, grinning as she watched him bristle. “And we can’t be sure of that, maybe it’s a meeting.”

“In the Library?” Draco laughed shortly. “Right. I may not read as much as you but I’m not stupid, Granger.”

“Wha- I didn’t... I’m just saying it’s entirely possible-,”

“Right. And I’m Hagrid.”

“You’re almost there,” she smirked.

“Why did you even have to pretend as if we weren’t going to restock books?” he asked, perplexed, ignoring the barb about his part time Care of Magical Creatures duties.

“Would you have come along if I’d told you exactly what we were doing?” she deadpanned.

Draco sighed. “Point is you’re a bad liar.”

“And you’re a bad wizard.”

The words had not left her lips for a second and she was already trying to take them back.

“Malfoy-,”

“I get it Granger,” he snapped sourly, marching ahead of her. “Big Bad Death Eater me.”

“I just meant to say you were bad at magic!”

“Sure,” he smiled saccharinely, pushing the door to the Library open with his left arm and gesturing for her to enter.

She glanced at his forearm, how it braced against the door, in level with her face, and looked back at him, seeing the challenge.

“I didn’t really mean it like that,” she said blankly, before shoving his arm out of the way and swaying into the Library.

Draco huffed out an annoyed breath and paused outside instead of following her in. The damn witch was so _mercurial_! Couldn’t she decide if she hated him or not already? One moment she’d be stressing how they needed to be respectful of each other and the next she’d be yelling at him for no reason. Then the next moment she’d be apologizing like as if she cared and later on she’d slip and let her bitterness at him seep through their casual exchanges.

Her emotions were unsteady enough to give him a sense of sea sickness; he was treading unfamiliar waters and they were stormier than a sea full of kraken. He shook his head wearily and ran a hand through his hair until his fingers found the back of his neck and kneaded the knot of tension there. He almost missed the simplicity of life under house arrest. Almost.

Inside the Library Madam Pince had already outlined the work plan to Granger and the librarian silently handed him a small guide when he walked in before taking her leave. The paper dictated that he had to stack the books ranging from U to Z while Granger had to tackle Q to T. The respective piles of books were all jumbled together in a singular mountain at the back of the Library and the two sat before the mound of books wearily before diving in. He pulled dusty book after book out of the pile and categorised them according to the first letter of their titles. Granger worked as methodically as he did, albeit not as silently.

“Says here we have to leave some books out- apparently we’re also to weed out inappropriate books and replace them with new ones,” she explained, placing an old tome on to the S pile. “They received a bunch of new stuff and they're all donations. I can’t wait to see if they’re in good condition. Donated books rarely ever are.”

“And you rarely ever shut up,” Draco observed with vague annoyance, levitating the books towards him with a flick of his wand before directing them to their respective piles in the same manner.

Granger glared at him but didn’t say anything, thankfully, and turned back to sorting through the books.

Draco savoured the silence for as long as it lasted; revelling in the soft subtle sounds of the Library and its atmosphere. Shafts of light poured in through the glass windows and the spaces in between shelves and the books in them. Dust motes glowed as they passed through the beams of light and the large grandfather clock ticked obnoxiously from somewhere in the room. He remembered his Fourth and Fifth Years and the time he would spend at the table near the window seat to the left. At dusk the light from the setting sun would hit the glass of the greenhouses down below and throw a spectacular rainbow of colour across the window near his table and thinking about it made Draco miss the simpler days when he could savour sunsets.

Granger spoke up again.

“Look what I found.”

The book she held out to him was smaller than most which wasn’t very interesting, but what _was_ interesting were its thick dragonhide cover and the silver emblem engraved into it- depicting an illustrated hydra, five heads twining around a glyph of some sort.

“That’s a dark book if I ever saw one,” Granger muttered, peering at it carefully. “And I’ve seen several.”

“The Restricted Section is restricted for a reason,” Draco pointed out, shrugging before pulling a battered copy of Year with the Yeti out of the pile with a disgusted sneer.

“This one’s going to the trash,” he murmured, glaring at Gilderoy Lockhart’s grinning face on the back.

“Schools can’t just _have_ dangerous items such as these!” the witch exclaimed, ignoring him. “Especially books about dark magic. Haven’t they learned their lesson?”

“And which is that?” Draco asked glibly, tossing another book onto the V pile.

“That you cannot underestimate _anyone_.”

“A few dark arts books in a library don’t make a dark wizard any more than a knife in a kitchen makes a murderer,” Draco said with a frown. “Thought you knew that Granger.”

She was undeterred. “Of course. But if someone’s already used your knives to kill someone wouldn’t you get rid of them?”

“I’m fairly sure it’s illegal to get rid of murder weapons Granger.”

“Urgh, that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“Probably amounts to Aiding and Abetting or something,” Draco persisted, a small smirk on his lips.

“Infuriating git,” Granger growled, before turning back to the book pile with a huff and loudly sorting the books nearest to her as she continued.

Thump.

“I’m just saying-,”

 _Thump_.

“That if you spawned one student with dark proclivities-,”

 _THUmp_.

“You shouldn’t assist potential others!”

 ** _THUMP_**.

“Granger,” Draco sighed, giving up on hoping for silence and letting the current that was her rant tug him into the fray. “Riddle was a one in a million chance. How many students in school today are capable of that kind of magic? We didn’t even have anyone like Potter until several years later and even _he_ isn’t great at magic, he just was a horcrux or some shit. Everyone could technically be a murderer, yes… but practically? No. Killing is _difficult_ \- it’s not just pointing your wand and saying the words. You have to mean it, Granger, and that goes for stabbing, strangling or beating them over the head with a goddamn club.”

“But if there’s a cause-,”

“Just because you’re angry and passionate doesn’t mean you have the capability to take a life or endanger others. Anger maybe in human nature but violence is difficult to get used to.”

“Voldemort’s followers blindly killed for him!”

“Granger half of them were bloody crazy and the rest- ever heard of duress?” Draco glared, sincerely hoping she wouldn’t press the issue.

“Duress doesn’t extend-,”

“He lived in my goddamn house, tortured my teachers at my dining table over dinner and made his snake eat our house elves if we failed tasks- Granger if that’s not duress then go back to the Wizengamot and have me thrown into Azkaban.”

“Okay fine, that’s not the point anyway,” Granger conceded, begrudgingly. “But don’t you think it’s an unnecessary risk? Why expose your students to things that could potentially _kill you_?!”

“All magic could potentially kill you.”

“That is not even close to being true,” she sighed. “There’s no good that could come from having detailed dark magic spell books lying around.”

“The most it could do is _educate_ people about how dangerous these spells really are and wait- yeah that’s what libraries are _for_.”

“I’m all for knowledge, Malfoy, but knowledge is power. And we just saw someone very powerful nearly decimate our kind. There’s no point of free for all knowledge if those attaining it cannot handle it.”

“Ignorance is more dangerous than knowledge, Granger,” Draco muttered, fumbling with a book.

“How can you even say-,”

“It doesn’t matter if you know what you’re doing- knowledge isn’t necessary to hurt people. _Obscurus_ are created directly from ignorance of magical capabilities or the repressing of them. Even your _precious_ Potter is guilty in your paradigm- he nearly killed me using a spell he knew nothing about!”

He wasn’t sure where all of that vehemence came from and neither was he entirely certain that he should have said it all, so he kept his gaze averted and continued sorting the books.

“True,” Granger said after a while, voice quiet. “I just- people are capable of surmounting the biggest challenges, even when it’s thought impossible.”

She looked at him intently then and he knew what she was trying to refer to.

“Leave it-,” he tried to say before she interrupted.

“Hogwarts was considered to be the _safest_ magical institution in all of England and a school kid managed to circumvent all of its security- that says a lot! It’s why Kinglsey should be really focusing on actually safe guarding the school instead of just pulling political stunts.”

“Like dumping me here,” Draco sneered, silently begging her to stop revisiting old wounds.

Hermione Granger snorted. She actually snorted.

“You were a child soldier, Malfoy,” she said laughingly, pulling a heavy tome towards her. “Not public enemy number 2. Don’t kid yourself, you’re not that important.”

Draco wasn’t sure what to say.

He watched Granger move the large book over to a pile- he wasn’t even sure what letters the piles belonged to anymore- and blinked a few times as she continued as if nothing was awry. As if she hadn’t just dismissed his entire life’s failures as being inconsequential.

“Why- I don’t…”

“You sound as flustered as Harry was today,” she said with a smile.

“You spoke to Potter?”

“Of course, he’s my best- wait did he speak to _you_?” she asked suddenly, turning to squint at him.

“Uh, yeah?”

“That git,” she laughed. “I knew something was up- he was being so inquisitive and sneaking around the dorm, and I _thought_ he was looking for booby traps and maybe he was! Sigh, boys. If he threatened you, ignore him. I mean, he did mean it and he will probably follow through but I can handle myself and I know you know that- and I highly doubt we’ll even come to that. I mean… we’re civil right? We could even be-,”

“You hate me.”

Huh. He supposed he had wanted to question her about her previous flippancy but that wasn’t quite _how_ he’d expected it to go.

Granger paused ungracefully mid speech with a certain bewildered look in her face. Then her hands dropped to her lap and she turned to face him with a frown.

“I don’t… I don’t hate you Malfoy,” she said carefully. “Hate is such a strong word. I _dislike_ what you stood for, I _dislike_ Pureblood society and principles, but I don’t dislike _or_ hate you.”

Draco felt the bookshelves constrict around him and he was half prepared to look for a window to jump out of. Why had he thought this line of questioning would lead to good things? Ignorance is bliss _. Ignorance is bliss…_

“You’re still a smarmy git who is way too cynical for his own good,” she continued, unaware of his internal meltdown as she sorted through a few more books. “But at least you quit the hair gel.”

She laughed at her own joke and shot him an amused glance. “Get it? Cause you used way too much Sleekeazy’s.”

Draco huffed out a heavy breath and wrenched his gaze away from hers. Damned infuriating woman and her mood swings and emotional imbalances. What he would give for irritated-Granger right now. What he would give for Hagrid and his smelly animals. What he would give for-

The Library melted away so suddenly, he almost felt the nausea that usually accompanied travelling via Portkey. His surroundings twisted and turned until they settled into a room of some sort and his vision dipped down towards a book, flipped open to the middle. A hand darted forward to doodle some shapes in the margins with a fluffy quill and then backed away out of his periphery. His mind was swirling in confusion- he couldn’t extrapolate anything from the whirlwind of thoughts flying through his mind. Suddenly his vision tipped upwards and someone with long hair was flying at him and squealing and he nearly screamed himself and then Granger was shaking him and yelling something and he was back in the goddamn library.

“Fuck!” he swore, tearing himself away and pacing around the small area.

“Are you alright?” Granger asked, eyes wide. “Why were you screaming?”

“I didn’t scream!”

“I _just_ heard you-,”

“I was not screaming, you dumb _bint_!”

“Well you’re screaming now!” she snapped back. “What’s going on?!”

Draco sighed and let his back hit a shelf, sliding down the wood until his hips hit the floor. “Nothing.”

“Draco Malfoy, so help me,” she demanded, shuffling over to where he sat with a sharp glare, shoving books out of her way with nary a care.

“Nothing’s going on, Granger,” he muttered, sighing again before running both his hands through his hair.

“Does it have to do with what happened at your Divination exam?” she asked shrewdly, peering at him as he tried to avert his eyes. 

“Ugh, why can’t you just let things go?” he groaned. “Yes. Yes it does. And no it wasn’t a crazy sex fantasy.”

Granger backed away immediately. “I- I wasn’t… that’s not what I thought it was.”

“Oh.”

Darn his stupid brain. “I’m seeing things.”

“ _What_?”

“That’s not right; I’m seeing things from someone _else’s_ perspective.”

“Well… that’s always a good way of trying to understand things better,” the witch ventured, frowning slightly.

“No, dammit!” Draco snapped. “I can see things and feel things that clearly belong to someone else.”

Granger fell silent at that revelation and the way her eyes lit up made Draco wonder if he should have told her at all.

“Good thing we’re in the library then,” she said with a smile.

“Wait- Granger there’s no we-,”

“We’re going to find out what it is, come on!”

“Granger!”

“The restricted section is easy to break into if we need to reference a text in there but whatever we do we _need_ to hurry before Madam Pince comes back because she will _kill_ us if we’re reading on the job, now come _on_ Malfoy!”

“Break into what? We can’t break into anything!”

“Oh so what you’re a rule follower now?”

“And you’re not?!”

“Rules can be broken for good reasons, Malfoy!”

“No they can’t-,”

“Wimp!”

“Hypocrite!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it!! Thanks sam for the first review<3  
> see you guys with chapter threee


	3. Revelation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for your lovely reviews! I'm glad you're liking Draco and the rest of the Eighth Years.  
> Anyway, all rights to Her Majesty, J K Rowling- this plot is all mine and that's all.

He found Blaise Zabini by the Great Lake, hovering near the treeline with a cloud of smoke hovering around his face.

“What on earth,” Draco muttered as he drew near, waving at the air around his own nose. “Zabini, what’s that stink?”

The Italian jumped a little before shooting a glare of displeasure in his fellow Slytherin’s direction. He dusted his shirtsleeves surreptitiously and angled his body stiffly away.

“Bugger off,” he snapped, a slim, cylindrical object dangling precariously from his lips.

Draco eyed it in distaste. “What's that?"

“A fag, you ninny,” Blaise replied, upper lip curling at Draco’s apparent ignorance. “It’s a muggle thing. Not still keen on killing those folks are you?”

Draco frowned at the blunt barb and crossed his arms. “Guns down Zabini, I just want to know what the hell is up with you.”

"Surprised that I'm out and about, doing stuff with my life?"

"No," Draco huffed. "I'm surprised you got caught."

The wizard in question rolled his eyes and slumped against a tree.

“Dumb prefects,” he scowled. “They got the firewhiskey because a Third Year got drunk off it and waltzed around the school in his starkers. I took the fall obviously... great leap of logic there.”

“You did have contraband material,” Draco sighed heavily.

“Listen to yourself, you ponce,” Blaise spat. “I didn’t drown the stupid kid in alcohol by force; he was dumb enough to drink fast. It’s his fault.”

“Right. Well forget it- what's important is why the hell you were in the ladies’ bathroom.”

At this Blaise stiffened. “Oh is that what they’re saying? That I was in there? Perfect.”

Draco frowned. “Well what else-,”

“You think you’re all up in everyone’s shit now, don’t you Malfoy? Think McGonagall’s adopted your pasty face, like some sort of Death Eater sob story?” the darker skinned Slytherin snapped viciously.

“Blaise-,”

“No shut up, I’m _talking_ ,” the other interrupted. “Things aren’t all dandy for us who aren’t Head Boy, okay? We’re still the big bad Death Eaters we never were. The scary Death Eater _you_ were. Our First Years don’t stay out past six because they’re scared they’ll get _beat up_. And there’s a hundred percent chance they will!”

Blaise snorted angrily before crushing the still burning cigarette in his fist and letting the ashes tumble to the ground. “Heck, even I’m scared. Thomas broke my rib last week for ‘looking at him funny’.”

“Dean?” Draco sighed, heavily.

“Man, I hadn’t even seen the piece of shit sulking there, he’s too dark to stand out in shadows. You’ll need a night vision charm to spot his dark ass. Anyway- it sucks we’re not in the dungeons anymore. No Snape, no scary dungeon to ward away the Slytherin-Extermination-Army… we’re fucked, pretty boy. It also doesn’t help that I’m gay as fucking Dumbledore, and Seamus Finnegan knows that. They’re coming for me.”

Draco grimaced at the ominous ending. “I highly doubt-,”

“What the fuck do you know?” Blaise demanded. “You haven’t been to our dorms- haven’t heard the kids cry. It’s hell Malfoy. It’s hell.”

“You try talking about _hell_ after you’ve lived with a dark wizard who tortured you for fun, Zabini- now cut the crap and answer my question,” Draco said darkly, sick of the other man’s tone. 

“Sigh, fuck you, you’ve always had things worse,” Zabini lamented, producing a small cardboard box from inside his robes and pulling yet another lean cigarette out.

Draco watched him light the tip with a snap; a wandless magic trick that existed only for this purpose he was sure. He waited with strained patience till Blaise had let out a heavy breath, laden with smoke, and then cleared his throat to remind the other Slytherin of his presence.  

“I wasn’t in there, that’s not how it happened,” Zabini elaborated slowly, glaring out across the lake. “I was hanging around and I heard awful crying and I thought I’d check it out that’s all.”

“What?”

“I _swear_ mate- that’s what happened, honest! I walked in and there was Weasley and she screamed and hexed me out.”

“And now everybody thinks you’re a pervert.”

Blaise groaned. “Yeah- but you didn’t hear the screaming. It was awful. Sounded like someone was trying to cry out their stomach or convince their eyeballs to roll out of their sockets with the power of their tears.”

Draco bit back a snarky comment. “You didn’t realise someone else was in there?”

“What was she even _doing_ in there? I wouldn’t have gone in if I knew a prefect was already handling whatever it was.”

“She’s more qualified to investigate crying girls compared to you, Zabini,” Draco sighed. “And what’s the beef?”

“Beef?” Zabini snorted. “I ain’t got beef with a _Weasley_. But that particular Weasley is a curse to our Quidditch team and if I have a chance to give a headache I sure as hell will.”

Draco grimaced. “I’m beginning to feel like you _did_ drown that poor kid in Firewhiskey.”

Blaise just smirked to himself.

* * *

 

“I think Blaise is on a path to self-destruction,” Draco grunted, hefting the large wooden pail of feed off the ground.

Hagrid had sent him out to work instead of help inside the cabin. It had been a toss up between feeding the Thestrals and handling a phoenix for the next Care of Magical Creatures class and Draco had obviously voted against the one that entailed more _teaching_. He had the strangest feeling Hagrid had been disappointed with his decision to wander out to the stables to handle feeding instead of the other option, but that didn’t make sense. It wasn’t like the Half-Giant wanted him around, was it? Sure they were civil- maybe even friendly. But it wasn’t as if he was of any use, really. The animals were drawn to Hagrid, no matter if they were new to the school or not. He was just in the background. He had pondered this as he made his way down to the stables but upon arriving he had reverted back mulling over the conversation he’d had with Blaise earlier in the day.

“And I’m not even sure what’s weirder,” he continued, tipping the bucket’s contents into the low sitting trough that sat a few feet away. “The fact that he’s in some juvenile feud with Ginevra Weasley or that _I’m_ not the one self-destructing.”   

The feed sloshed into the trough sloppily and he grimaced as some of it dripped onto his shoe. “Great. Anyway, at least he didn’t do anything _too_ crazy. Probably freaked Weaslette out by turning up in the girls’ bathroom of all places. I suppose that would be creepy.”

The Thestrals he was talking to herded around the trough, nosing their way towards the food with soft harrumphs and snorts. One in particular huffed a breath of air in the wizard’s direction before sinking his head low to reach his meal.

“Of course _you’d_ disagree, Levitt,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure we’ve all decided your opinion doesn’t count.”

The Thestrals huffed and whinnied at his voice, alternating between snuffling their food and snorting roughly into his face at odd intervals.

“Ignoring opinions is fine if I’m the leader.”

A Thestral in the far corner whinnied loudly and shook its veiny wings, skeletal limbs trembling.

“Yeah? Well you lot can’t know about tyrannical leaders cause you’re just glorified death horses, Lady.”

Lady seemed to differ.

“What?” Draco protested; dodging one Thestral’s nipping teeth. “Is it gang-up-on-poor-Draco day? Pity I brought extra feed- I should’ve starved you all.”

“They can’t survive very long without food,” someone pointed out.

Draco jumped out of his skin, scaring a few of theThestrals so much that they stomped their hooves into the dry ground in a small panic, wings beating furiously. He spun around wildly with his wand drawn, sputtering profanities while clutching at his chest with one hand.

“Hello, Draco,” Luna smiled, long white blonde tresses laden with gooseberries. “Sorry to interrupt your conversation. I hope I’m not intruding.”

Draco cringed lightly. “I wasn’t talking to the horses, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Why not?” the Ravenclaw asked, reaching over to run a tentative hand along Levitt’s nose. “Thestrals make good listeners.”

“I suppose,” Draco allowed, sighing internally.

Lovegood waltzed past the trough to personally greet each creature while Draco stood to the side Vanishing the dirt and muck off his robes and shoes.

“Busy day?” she asked as she stopped beside him, fingers meddling with the briar stems she had in her hand.

“Yes, um err- what have you got those for Lovegood… they look rather dangerous,” Draco answered, distractedly eyeing the thorny stems.

“It’s Luna to you, Draco- I believe our friendship is inevitable.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” Her fingers twirled between the briars.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just am.”

“Is this some Divination project? Saw it in a cup of mouldy coffee?”

Luna seemed to actually consider this. “Doubtful that could ever happen, really. Coffee doesn’t usually mould. And these are for a gift.”

Draco paused, momentarily confused, and then remembered the stems in her hands. “Ah. How thoughtful.”

Luna agreed with a simple nod, before closing her eyes and humming under her breath. Her fingers kept working at the stems- knitting them and twisting them into random knots and wild patterns. Draco sighed. He wasn’t getting much more out from her.

He moved across her to reach for the Thestrals and continued with his work; spelling the creatures to stay clean and free of common diseases, and replacing the food with water. He let Luna’s tune wash over him as he worked and let himself focus entirely on the animals. He listened to Heimdall’s whining, and stroked the slower and weaker Thestral, Whinney, as she made her way back to the stable, lagging behind the rest of the herd.

When he returned, Luna was cross legged on the grass, eyes pointed to the sky and a new song on her lips. She stopped singing when he sat down beside her.

“Sorry if I distract you when I visit,” she said, voice aloof. “It’s just your aura. It’s pleasing.”

Draco didn’t even want to ask what she meant by that one. He rarely ever understood what Luna mumbled when she stopped by to hover around him and the animals, and he never really asked. They just co-existed somehow. And it was strangely… pleasant. He supposed that was what she had meant, but there was no way of knowing now. She would’ve forgotten it entirely.

“Here,” she said suddenly, small white hands pushing something into his own that hurt a little too much.

Cursing in his head, he pulled the offending object out from where it was embedded into his right palm, and frowned when he recognised it. “Is this the gift?”

“You’ll need it,” she said instead, cryptic as usual.

“Why-,”

Luna got to her feet and dusted the back of her dress off. He stared at her strange muggle sneakers as she rose, before frowning up at her gooseberry framed face.

“You’re not going to tell me are you?”

Luna smiled and waved down at him before turning to leave; a small hop in her step and a glint in her faraway gaze.

“See you later, Draco,” she called in a sing-song voice. “And remember- poxy pixies flood to old socks!”

He watched her go- half afraid she’d keel over and tumble down the slope and into the forest. She wasn’t typically clumsy, but her airy voice and demeanour always set him on edge, worried that she’d hurt herself and not even notice. He waited till she was out of his view to frown down at his gift. The briars had been twisted into some sort of web like structure that twined around itself and knotted in various random places. The thorny stems criss-crossed oddly in the vague shape of a wobbly circle. A few red berries stood out among the dull green of the stems- poked into the thorns with either precise care or random choice. One could never be sure with Luna Lovegood. He turned the circle of briars over in his palm and held it to the waning sunlight before giving up. He had no clue as to what it was and probably never would.

Kicking off the ground, Draco grabbed the pail with his free hand and headed towards Hagrid’s cabin. He had classes and patrol duty to pay attention to so he carefully shrunk the wreath until it was the size of a crown for his thumb and dropped it into a pocket on his robes. Running a weary hand through his hair, he headed back; half his mind worrying whether he could maybe eat those berries.

* * *

 

When he trudged into the Head’s dorm around ten, all he wanted to do was catch up on the dinner he’d missed and head straight to bed. He’d struggled through Advanced Herbology with a continuous assault of visions that had hurt his head more than they’d shown him anything. Professor Sprout had nearly taken points off him for crying out loudly when the first skull splitting vision had hit and it had taken Granger’s quick intervention to draw her wrath off him. He hated owing Granger, but he was more grateful than anything else. The vision had hurt like a motherfucker.

He ignored the warm pull of the fireplace that begged him to relax on the futon in the common area and sleep immediately, and headed for the kitchen instead. All he needed to do was call for a house elf and ask for whatever they had to offer, stay awake for the few seconds it would take for them to return, eat as much as he can and then collapse into bed.

Simple. Almost too simple.

Which was why he wasn’t surprised when he found Granger sitting up on a stool by the kitchenette, nursing a mug of something that had probably long gone cold. She perked up when she saw him and he deflated in return.

“Oh, don’t look so depressed,” she chided, rolling her eyes. “I got some dinner for you- it’s over there under a heating charm.”

He followed her finger to see a plate sitting on the counter, laden with a careful selection of greens, fresh salad and roasted duck.

“Don’t pretend to ask for bread rolls,” the witch interjected when he opened his mouth to speak. “I know you don’t like those.”

“I was going to say thank you,” he smirked, sliding onto a stool and pulling the late towards himself.

Granger had the grace to blush. “Oh… right. No worries.”

She let him eat in silence, sipping on her drink as he downed the food in massive mouthfuls. She seemed preoccupied but he wasn’t inclined to query, so he continued eating as if he hadn’t noticed. He silently wondered when he’d grown comfortable around the witch. It was probably due to her insistence that they be civil- he’d been more keen on swearing at her more than anything else. Granger was always trying to reach out and be a part of everything. It had infuriated him when they’d just moved into the dorm together, but with whatever was going on his head now, he couldn’t complain about her help. There was no doubt that Hermione Granger was intensely committed to whatever projects she undertook- and Draco surmised that it was probably the combined effects of Hagrid’s kindness and Patil’s awkward friendship on his usually cold self that allowed Granger to wiggle in past his defences somehow. 

“Thought you’d be a bit more graceful at eating,” she said once he finished eating, wrinkling her nose.

Draco sighed, shrugging his robes off his shoulders and uncuffing his sleeves. He scrunched them up to his forearms haphazardly, before yanking his tie off while rising to his feet. “I’m exhausted Granger,” he offered tiredly.

“You’ll want to hear what I found out though!” she protested, grabbing for his arm before he could turn to leave.

He frowned at her grasp on his forearm and turned his frown on her. “I’m not convinced it’s important.”

“Your visions, Draco! I know you had them in Herbology today,” she snapped, exasperated.

“But we didn’t find anything about it yesterday.”

“Yes, well- I happen to have teachers who are willing to help me,” Granger sniffed imperiously.

Draco squinted at her. The way she grinned immediately told him she knew she’d hooked on to his curiosity, so he gave in. “Spill,” he ordered, sitting back down.

She smirked smugly, pushing a small glass bottle across the table so it slid to a stop by his arms. “Drink up,” she nodded. “It’s a short term energy replenishing potion. It’s a long story and I’d rather you pay attention now than have me repeat myself tomorrow.”

Draco raised a brow archly but drank the whole vial without question- glaring at her so as to say that he’d hold her responsible for any damage incurred by the imbibing of the potion.

“I spoke to Madam Pince in passing about strange charms that can be cast upon the mind earlier today- just casually, you know- and she told me she had a few special books I could read through.”

“So the book had it?” Draco breathed, eyes intently searching hers.

She grinned back, clearly enjoying being needed. “No. But I knew that those books didn’t have the answer cause I’d read them to find information on Horcruxes a while back so I asked if she had any other sources, and naturally she got suspicious-,”

“Get to the point, Grang-,”

“So I told her I was doing some research for an extra credit project to enter Mungo’s as a Healer and she totally bought it because she’s in love with this senior Healer you see- she told me so in Fifth year…,”

“Granger!”

“Anyway. She mentioned that Professor Flitwick had an archive of handy charms and spells, so I told _him_ that I needed something to help with McGonagall’s event and he let me use his personal library.”

“How- he just… did that?”

“I know you’re in awe, Malfoy,” she laughed. “Just don’t interrupt, alright? So I found this book there that was full of strange old magic- most of them were kinky bedroom charms that bordered on enslaving your partner with a half-baked Imperius knock off, but I digress. They were all mental charms though, and guess what yours is?”

“Wait- My condition was in there?”

“Do keep up! Yes it was, Malfoy and guess what? I am a ninety percent sure that you’ve become linked to your soul mate.”

Draco felt his throat convulse on his next breath and he choked on air. “I- _what_?”

“Soul mate magic!”

A pause.

“Granger- _no_.”

“It makes perfect sense,” she insisted while he gagged. “You’re linked by the mind to your soul mate! The book says it’s very rare magic and only happens to very spiritually inclined witches and wizards. It also mentioned how soul mate bonds make sex much better- but that’s not really important right now.”

“Sounds like a load of Divination crap!”

“You’re the one who studies it- you tell me,” she laughed back, clearly enjoying herself. “And it’s a serious magic, Malfoy- don’t be ignorant.”

Draco watched her continue to explain the ancient magic with a growing horror that crept up his spine and clawed at his weakening heart with cold, unforgiving strength. Granger kept elaborating on how the magic might have been awakened in him due to his "coming of age" and he tried his best to listen.

"Magic as old as this one is very rare, Malfoy," she repeated, warily watching his paling face. "You should be happy."

"Happy?" he choked out, feeling his dinner rise back up through his throat. "How can I be happy? My wife has been chosen for me by some ancient magic? How is that great in any way? And I have a _wife_?"

Granger squirmed a little at that. "It sounds romantic?"

"It isn't. It's about as romantic as Pureblood arranged marriages."

"Those still exist?" she asked, genuinely surprised and maybe a little quick to change the subject.

Draco nodded blankly in return and resumed brooding. He can't have someone soul bound to him- he can't. He wasn't even supposed to have friends let alone love interests. And he was supposed to marry this woman and live with her forever? No way.

"Malfoy?" Granger called, waving her fingers lightly in front of her own face to catch his attention. “Earth to Malfoy, come in.”

"Houston, I think we have so many problems," he replied, running a tired hand across his eyes in despair.

He'd started off with a strange sexual fantasy and ended up with a soul mate- where the logic lay, he did not know. He felt like screaming at the sky, as ridiculous as that sounded, to release the amount of panic that was welling up inside him. Granger, on the other hand, seemed stunned into silence for some reason and he frowned at her from across the table, hoping to spur her into motion before they both became shells of the people they once were.

 _A touch too dramatic, Draco_ , he warned himself about his own concerns, as he watched the witch jerk herself into the present.

"You- you know what that is?" she sputtered accusingly. "That's a muggle thing!"

Draco squinted at her. "What... soul mates?"

"No! _Houston_!"

She seemed pretty crazed about this and he wasn't sure why.

"How much do you know about space travel? Or rather, how much do wizards know? Have wizards even been to the moon? This is crazy- I didn't know the magical world had advanced in extra-terrestrial travel and such. But the Apollo 13 moon flight was a muggle endeavour... how do you, Draco Malfoy, _scion_ of Pureblood society- know about the muggle space race?"

Draco felt a little taken off guard. "Granger- everyone knows about Apollo 13. We're a secret society but not an entirely stupid one.”

“Really?” she snorted. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Why? Cause we have extremists and arranged marriages? Come on, Granger. Try to deny that the muggle world doesn’t have terrorizing mass murderers and taboo cultures that marry off their children like cattle.”

 He didn’t wait for her undoubtedly incensed response and continued. “And anyway, a muggle project to the moon would obviously intrigue the wizarding population. I heard the Ministry helped fund part of it alongside the Americans. It was exciting, is what they say. Of course Father was beyond ecstatic when it failed, according to Mother... but I suppose I've answered your question."

Granger looked torn between enthusiasm and confusion. He could almost see the million questions buzzing around her head and decided to discourage her before she could unleash her curiosity upon his exhausted mind.

"Sciency debates later, Granger," he sighed heavily before quickly moving away from the kitchenette. "I'd like a shower and some good rest before I have to start thinking about life and my predicament."

She nodded hastily at his harried exit and settled back into the chair she was sat upon, no doubt returning to her myriad of questions and nursing them on her own.

He locked himself away in the bathroom and glared at his own reflection, before stripping tiredly and standing under the heat of the pounding water of the shower. The last thing he heard before he set up a silencing spell so that he could scream at himself was Granger muttering as she walked past to her own room.

“I can’t believe he just said _sciency_. Padma would _die_.”

 

* * *

 

Draco spent the whole day with Terry Boot, rushing across the campus in their quest to fulfil as many items off McGonagall’s gargantuan checklist. Granger once called the several feet long list ‘Godzilla’ yesterday and now it had stuck, although for the life of him Draco could not figure out what it meant. He had been tasked with doing the errands that required travelling around the most when Granger had split up the duties between them, and since it was a little more taxing then her share, she allowed him to take Boot along for company and as an extra hand for whatever menial labour would be involved. They’d brought the crates full of light fairies that Hagrid had found for them all the way to the Great Hall and left it in Weaslette’s care. They’d also trekked all the way to Professor Sprout’s personal greenhouse on the far end of the campus grounds to retrieve her recently bloomed flowers, and because they couldn’t apparate on school premises they’d had to make two trips back and forth to Levitate the small glowing flower placements to the Hall.

Granger had admonished them for having forgotten to use an Extending charm on a box so the flowers could all fit in and then placing a Weightless Charm on it before Levitating it in one go- but Draco had just glared at her know-it-all smirk before trudging off to complete his next task. He had to collect the evening’s menu from the house elves, who had strangely been rather unwilling to give it up as they’d hoped it could’ve been a surprise. However, he’d explained how a poor junior Prefect was waiting for the list so he could create several leaflets for all the tables and they seemed to give up at the thought of a magical being without work to do, and handed it over. Several other chores had to be completed down in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, so Draco sent Boot off with a smaller list to the village and Apparated to the high street himself.

He popped in at a few shops, placing orders to send the required items to the school itself, before stopping right in the middle of the street when he read the last thing on the list.

 _Fireworks for display_ , it read in McGonagall’s flowing script, _from Weasleys’ Wheezing Shop_.

She’d gotten the name of the shop down incorrectly, but there was no doubt as to what she had meant. Draco sighed heavily at his misfortune and cursed his own decision to send Boot to Hogsmeade. The Ravenclaw would’ve easily got the needful from the remaining Weasley twin and Draco couldn’t help but imagine how badly this could go as he ventured towards the brightly coloured joke shop. It stood right at the curb, strangely angled against the building beside it and coloured a bright orange with a large sign that read _Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes_ in large bold font. Draco eyed the placing of the apostrophe in the sign and cringed. This was going to be harder than he thought.

The bell on the door tinkled gaily when he entered and he sincerely hoped no one had heard. The shop was empty, it being the middle of a school day, and Draco found himself wishing that George Weasley had decided to leave some runt to handle the shop in his place. Colourful items of unknown value accosted him as he made his way to the counter, trying his best to quell his nerves. What a sad excuse for a Malfoy he was becoming.

The counter was lined with small glass boxes filled with little goodies, meant to entice paying customers into buying more while they waited for their goods to be billed. He ran a hand through the shiny marbles in one container and watched as the colours in the tiny glass balls twisted and churned and changed as they moved.

“Fantastic aren’t they?” a voice called out from over a few shelves behind him. “Musical Marbles is what we call ‘em. Start playing with a few of those and they’ll make all sorts of musical sounds when they hit each other. And the colours change! Of course they explode and scream if you use them to trip people up by scattering them everywhere- but that’s a secret so _shhh_.”

Draco turned to catch the red haired man wink playfully before his freckled face froze mid smile. Great, he winced.

“Malfoy,” he muttered, looking away and dusting his hands on the green apron he wore over a strange striped jumpsuit that clashed with his hair. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh- I need some fireworks for a display,” Draco answered quietly, half hating himself for being so meek and half sickened by the idea that the man before him was so distraught at the loss of his twin that he couldn’t bring himself to change the name of his shop from a plural _Weasleys’_ to a singular _Weasley’s_.

George slowly shifted so that he stood behind the counter and coldly looked down at him from there. “Sorry, we’re out of stock.”

Draco groaned internally. He didn’t deserve this, he hadn’t done anything to the Weasley twins- but deep down he felt that he may have known the Death Eater that had killed Fred Weasley and that was enough to make him feel like a murderer himself.

“It’s rather important; we need it for this evening if that can be arranged.”

“Not possible,” George replied snappishly, already turning away to glower at the display of items behind him. “You should’ve placed your order earlier. And elsewhere.”

“Headmistress McGonagall only decided to have the event three days ago,” Draco replied, slightly irritated. “And she’s asked for _your_ fireworks.”

The redhead shot a weary glance back at the boy before him. “McGonagall? You’re at Hogwarts?”

Draco nodded. “Errand boy.”

The look on Weasley’s face looked like he was trying to scream _oh how the mighty have fallen_.

“Well, tough luck,” he muttered, seemingly softening at the mention of his alma mater. “There’s a complication with the new fireworks I’ve been making and I don’t have enough old ones for a full display.”

“But we need the fireworks, and if you would just stop fudging about and sell them to me, I’d be out of your face. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Listen Malfoy, this is my shop and I can sell to whomever I please,” George snapped in return. “And don’t pretend to know what I want.”

“Ah so you don’t sell to nineteen year olds anymore?” Draco mused aloud, trying his best not to snarl.

“That’s not it.”

“So you still think I’m a Death Eater.”

“Just get out of my store.”

“Great entrepreneurial skills, Weasley,” Draco muttered, rolling his eyes before turning for the door. “Don’t sell to people you don’t like.”

“It’s more than that, you insolent ferret!”

“How so?” Draco returned, equally loudly; spinning back around to retort in the older man’s face. “I’m not the Death Eater who killed your brother _or_ hurt your family! I didn’t kill a single person- all I ever did was be a shit to your brother in school, so yeah… I’m just someone you don’t like.”

The expression on George Weasley’s face alternated between confusion, anger and despair before shuttering completely.

“You can’t blame me for what happened, Weasley,” Draco managed to say, throat constricted with tension. “I’m just here for fireworks.”

George Weasley stared back at him with a blank glare before running his hands through his bob shaped mane and staring at the ceiling, distraught. “You’re just a kid. I get it, now can you leave?”

“So there isn’t a real problem with your fireworks and you just made it up not to sell it to me.”

“There is a real issue- don’t call me a liar, Malfoy!” the Weasley growled, reddening in the face as he dropped his hands form his hair. “The Exploding Powder is reacting negatively to the charms placed on it, so unless you want the entire display to backfire on your faces, I suggest you _leave_ , and find fireworks _elsewhere_.”

Draco screwed up his face in thought for a moment, before nodding in agreement and heading for the door, leaving a slightly confused and out of breath Weasley behind him.

“I need those fireworks for McGonagall’s terrible idea of an event and I’m going to get them from you with either your cooperation or by force- and not my force mind you… it’ll be Granger’s full wrath for delaying the event and potentially throwing off the schedule. If the issue is with the Exploding powder, try muggle gunpowder instead. It’s easily accessible in comparison and doesn’t interfere with magic much. I expect a full display delivered to Hogwarts by noon, and if there’s still an issue, I suggest you take it up with McGonagall yourself- good day.”

With that he swept out the door and hurried down the street, striding purposefully away from the joke shop without stopping until he reached the disApparition point and spelled himself out of the street and back to school.

Granger eyed him strangely when he barged into the Hall fifteen minutes later, where she and the others were charming the decorations to the pillars. The entire ceiling had been charmed to resemble a glowy Arctic sky and the House tables had been replaced with circular banquet hall tables, made to seat five people each, with pearlescent moon orchids placed at the centres.

“Next time, I get the inside work and you can traipse around Magical London,” he muttered lowly as he passed the frizzy haired witch.

She grinned back up at him wickedly and followed his frame as he moved around the tables, heading over to where Longbottom was directing the light fairies to hover strategically across the Hall.

“Why, did your business-end-of-a-Malfoy trick not work?” she smirked, prodding his arm with her wand as she sidled up beside him, shorter legs struggling to catch up to his longer, more determined strides.

“I’m just realising that in this day and age, your cross-me-and-you’ll-wish-for-a-swifter-death tactic might garner better results.”

To his mild surprise she laughed instead of scowling and waved at Longbottom cheerily, who paused his task to wave back. With the lack of his attention, the light fairies scattered across the Hall, squealing as they did so. Longbottom jumped in shock and started mumbling apologies as he ran after them in a bee line, wand waving. Draco turned to watch him go, smiling gently at the hilarity of it all before his eyes dropped down to the witch before him who was looking less and less like the angry lioness she usually looked like and more like the cat who had got the cream.

“Now look what you’ve done,” he said to her frizz of hair.

“Oops,” was all she had to offer, her grin widening.

“What is it, Granger,” he scowled lightly, tipping his head to frown down at her.

“You should smile more often, Malfoy,” she chided, playfully nudging him with her elbow. “You look a lot less… _angular_.”

He rubbed at his side with a wary, guarded look on his face. She as being weird… unnerving even, and he couldn’t bear it anymore.

“What’s going on?” he asked bending from the hip slightly so he could scowl directly into her face. “Did you take a potion that was left unattended? How long have you been working? When did you last stop to eat something? Do you feel dizzy? Light-headed?”

Granger dropped her mouth open in a dainty scoff and flicked her hair over her shoulder; the curly mass swatting him in the face as it sailed past. “Can’t I be happy without the grumpy police coming after me? Besides, it’s a great reason- I think I know who your soul mate is, Malfoy!”

Her excitement didn’t lessen the blow of realisation that everything she’d told him yesterday had been real.

“Fuck me,” he groaned.

Granger laughed again, turning him away from the rest of the working Prefects before continuing. “It’s not so bad! I was talking to a few of the girls and guess what? Lavender is awfully pale _and_ she was with Harry before lunch the day he popped by to say hello. She could’ve walked in with him and that was probably what you saw! And Padma told me she likes you- sort of.”

“Brown? You think _Brown_ is my soul mate? That would confirm my suspicions.”

“Your suspicions?”

“That this so-called ‘magic’ is actually a scam to make witches think they’re not single and sad,” he scowled. “Brown can’t be my soul mate- she can’t. She’s ridiculously shallow and she doesn’t _like_ me, Granger, she’s probably hoping for a good shag.”

The witch beside him scrunched her nose in distaste at his crude words and rolled her eyes. “Sexual feelings can turn romantic.”

“You’ve been reading way too much Lockhart.”

She flushed deeply in reply. “I have not!”

“Where do you even find the time to investigate this nonsense?” he asked, growing tired of Neville’s efforts to collect the fairies and casting a spell of his own at the scattered creatures in an attempt to subdue them.

“It’s not nonsense, Malfoy- it’s your own issue,” she snapped back, crossing her arms across her chest defensively. “And if you don’t want my help then fine. Go sulk around with your visions and see if that gives you any answers.”

“Granger-,” he tried to amend, watching her eyes flash angrily.

“If you’re done with your responsibilities, you may leave.”

She stalked away from him then, arms rigidly at her sides and spine stiff. She cast a spell at the ceiling that shot brilliant sparks of light and the swarm of escaped fairies gathered around her immediately, cooing and goggling at the source that was the tip of her wand.

Neville hastily retrieved the fairies from her then and Draco watched as she returned to assist the other Prefects, never once looking back. Sighing heavily at his own stupidity, he headed out of the Hall and back to his dorm to prepare for the event. Maybe he’d write a letter home. Or he’d study.

By the time he reached his room he’d subconsciously chose studying over corresponding with his Mother and unceremoniously slumped at his desk to pore over his overdue Herbology notes. The new dress robes laid out on his bed mocked him mercilessly as he struggled to study and Draco sighed again when he thought about having to escort Granger to the Gala in the evening. She was probably seething at him right now, and with good reason. He didn’t need a Dark Lord to convince him to make bad decisions- he was a royal fuck up all on his own. 

 


	4. Culmination

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important-ish notes at the end of the chapter!  
> Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last few! I really love hearing from you guys and hope more of y'all review<3

Part One

Nothing could get the student body of Hogwarts more excited than a party could, but McGonagall's War Memorial event had the blandest reception in Hogwarts history that Draco was barely surprised when he found _Granger_ to be the only one excited about it; dancing about in the common area of their dorm. She had some strange music playing in the room with a crooning voice that mumbled over words so lowly he had trouble distinguishing which language it was in. The witch in question was sort of _hopping_ around the sofas, nodding her head to the beat; wild curls attacking the air around them with fervour. 

Steering clear of the witch and her enthusiastic limbs, Draco made his way across the room and smirked at her from the doorway to the kitchenette. 

"Someone's excited," he called out over the music when she bounded by, a scent of fresh cinnamon and honey trailing behind her. 

She'd probably just showered. 

"Ecstatic," came the reply, shouted back over the droning music. 

"Thought you hated the idea," he retorted, watching her twirl childishly, her casual t-shirt ballooning around her torso.

"Absolutely!"

"Then why the enthusiasm?" he asked with a short laugh. 

She came to a stumbling halt on her next spin and fumbled with her wand before quieting the music. 

"Wow, Malfoy cares," she smiled; hair a crazy mess atop her head, tumbling from a massive heap down to her shoulders in messy swoops and ringlets.

"You look retarded," he deadpanned, shooting her a practiced blank glare.

The effect was immediate; Granger went from the morning after to an annoyed harpy in the space of a second.

"You don't have to be a prat," she sighed, hand on her hip. "And fine, I'll bite. I think it's stupid because it’s too early to remember the dead before we fix the living. It's a terrible idea because she asked us to invite our families and half of us don’t have any left. Its badly timed and poorly thought through and I hate it."

Draco winced at her words and glanced away, head pounding dully as it worked up to a headache.

"But I'm excited because I get to see Harry and Ron and the Weasleys, and after the memorial bits we'll just have a good time with each other. It's also a compelling reason for me to stop studying, get a new dress and feel better about myself."

Draco looked up to see her waltz back across the common area, music fading as she locked herself in her room, no doubt to prepare for the evening. 

He grimaced internally at the thought that he had absolutely nothing to do during the event, especially now that Granger was planning to be with her Gryffindor friends. He felt like as if he should've balked more at the idea of having to even rely on ‘Mudblood’ Granger for company, but he knew that wall he'd erected was purely for his own sanity's sake and not out of actual hatred. He had nothing over Granger now. He had absolutely no ideals or beliefs of his own apart from the fact that death and destruction were real, but Granger had an _army_ of positive principles, just causes and good intentions so pure they might even cure the world from prejudice if she intended to. He had no family despite everyone being alive, but Granger was in a world apart from her parents and still managed to be close to them, save and protect them even. And then there was the matter of him being absolutely alone in this world with only several vaults in Gringotts for company. Except for his mystery soul mate.

The thought of her didn’t make him feel better in the least.

* * *

 

Part Two

He showered with the soul mate conspiracy shelved in the recesses of his mind- too focused on the impending loneliness of the evening. When he charmed away the growing stubble on his chin he did wonder briefly why he'd been spared a vision for some time now, and then quickly ignored the thought before he jinxed it.

      He made sure he didn't look too pallid when he glanced in the mirror, casting a gentle warming charm to heat his cheeks and dry his hair. The robes his mother had had tailored to fit slipped over his shoulders easily and looked effortlessly fashionable without his input. His hair dried awkwardly due to the lack of attention, and he let it hang across his forehead and frame his face in a half-hearted attempt to stamp out Malfoy senior’s distinct features in his own appearance. The results made him seem a little too careless with his outlook but Draco decided he had nothing left to live up to hence it did not matter in the least. A small art of him indignantly protested his lethargic preparations and demanded he get ready like a Malfoy should, but the sobering realisation of his loneliness was far more compelling than what was left of his pride. 

He briefly contemplated bringing along a small dose of a Calming Draught but decided against it at the last moment because the pockets of his robes would probably house his hands for the rest of the evening.  He marched into the common area of their shared dorm and waited impatiently for Granger to exit as well; speech was nervously crumpled in one hand and a glass of water in the other, for want of something to hold. He swirled the water around in the glass moodily and resisted the urge to swear Granger out of the room. The water sloshed over the sides a little and drenched his fingers and when he moved to set it down on the low table before him, reality shifted.

He was staring down a dark corridor of the school, taking small steps forward, almost nervously. Something in his head was screaming at him to stop whatever this girl was planning on doing and he soon realised it was her own conscience.  Was she off to meet her date? Was the bloke standing her up in some shady corridor? This was awkward as heck. But why was there no- _something was off._ He had full control over his thoughts for some reason, and he wished she’d just look down at her own dress or pass a mirror so he could finally figure out who she was and put an end to this. Somehow.

The girl jumped a little at a sudden sound and then someone was calling out and she was turning around quickly to respond, taking away the scenery with her. Draco felt the whooshing feeling that usually accompanied being side-along Apparated without consent and he was back in the common room with shards of glass at his feet that were lying in a puddle of water.

“Malfoy?” Granger was asking, treading towards him from across the room. “Everything alright?”

He nodded quickly, Vanishing the remnants of the glass and rising to his feet.

“Was it another vision?” she asked, heading past him with a worried glance and towards the door.

No,” he replied, taking in her strange appearance. “My hand slipped. What are you wearing?”

Granger flushed somewhat abashedly and frowned back at him, hands brushing the full skirt of her dress. “A dress- what’s wrong with it?”

Draco wasn’t sure if this line of conversation was going to get him hexed but he’d started it so he supposed he might as well explain. “There’s a hole in the back.”

Obviously, Granger laughed. Sure, he’d expected her to be mad, but somehow it was becoming obvious that she’d laugh instead of berate him and he was beginning to think that was because he was mostly ignorant now instead of outright cruel.

“It’s a backless dress, Malfoy,” she choked out, clutching her sides in laughter.

He stiffened and glared at her. “It’s not that funny, I’ve just never seen that kind of robes before.”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” she amended, covering her grin with a small hand. “It’s a muggle cocktail dress- isn’t it rather lovely?”

She twirled then and the skirt that fell straight down from her waist picked up due to the motion and flared out around her calves impressively. The robin’s egg blue of the material seemed to glisten in the light and made him wonder if it was charmed to do so. Her curls seemed tamer and didn’t flop around like a mop when she spun to a halt, but her face was lit up so brightly in excitement that Draco found himself opting for silence instead of a well-timed compliment as his upbringing instructed him to do.

Granger looked at him expectantly and then let her eyebrows fall. “You look dashing yourself,” she smirked, raising a brow at him, before extending her arm to twine around his own. “Would you, Mr Malfoy, do me the great honour of accompanying me to the Gala?”

He cringed at her attempt at an imperial accent and took her elbow by the hand and untucked her arm from his. “Please, Granger… no more. The theatre is glad you steered clear of the stage.”

He watched her eyes flicker across his face, no doubt searching for the reason for his sudden stiffness, and finding none, she turned to walk out of the room with a frown. Draco followed her out quietly and tried banish thoughts of the dreadful evening to come as they headed for the Hall in awkward silence. He had a speech to be delivered and he was half-hoping the crowd wouldn’t hex him off the podium, and half-hoping they’d _Avada_ him sight. The creeping feeling in his chest told him it was going to be a long, tiresome night.

* * *

 

Part Three

Pure, unadulterated fear was a tenacious thing. It grew and conquered even the most stubborn hearts and the most protected minds. Draco could barely see past the haze of anger and terror that was obscuring his vision and the Great Hall swum around him in blurry flashes of light and passing people. Longbottom stopped at his side with a worried glance and it was all Draco could do to wave him off with a firm nod that everything was ok. Of course the wizard probably didn’t really care and must have been sent over to find out why the Head Boy was drunkenly staggering into the corner of the Hall and crouching behind a pillar.  
The thrum of the party was doing nothing to calm his nerves and Draco hadn’t been able to help but give in to the panic that had begun to set in. He’d hidden away in a corner of the Hall, carefully shielding himself from prying eyes and hostile ones. He could barely _breathe_ around the stress building up inside his chest and he sorely wished for an end to the torture that had engulfed him so suddenly. He thought back to the strange vision without the emotions and frowned to himself. Something was wrong. The intense fear had to be from somewhere, and it had to be his soulmate’s. But he’d never before felt her emotions without the accompanying vision.

She must be in trouble. Something was happening and Draco wasn’t sure what it was but he was semi-convinced that whatever it as, it was wrong. He could barely identify one thought from another as his head throbbed and swam with fear- but what he did remember, and vividly at that, was the latest vision. The girl was in trouble… and must still be in trouble. Something was going wrong and he couldn’t extrapolate anything more than that… but he was sure. He was sure. As sure as the… he couldn’t think of a metaphor.

But Granger could. _Granger!_

He shoved his way across the Hall, searching for the redheaded clan she’d no doubt immersed herself in. He needed her help, he was sure of this as well. Moving a frightened witch aside with both hands, Draco plunged past Percy Weasley and another brother with longer red hair and grabbed Granger by the shoulders, turning her away from Potter. And Weaslbee. Fuck. This had not been thought through at all.

He could feel the entire Weasley clan bristle at his violent entry and Ron Weasley looked ready to attack him with his bare, bony hands. Quickly, Draco dismissed the urge to shake the witch in his hands by the shoulders and force her to help him. He needed to gather himself _now_. His previous depression had been more than enough, he didn't need humliation via death by fancy Auror Potter to add to his myriad of miseries as a failed Malfoy. Collecting his wits, Draco straightened his spine and donned a mask of cool superiority that flinched under the Weasley matriarch's glare but held firm nonetheless.

“Malfoy what-,” Granger began, but he spoke over her with urgency.

"Gentlemen, and Mrs. Weasley, I apologize for interrupting, but Miss Granger's assistance is required elsewhere in her capacity as Head Girl," he lied smoothly. "Please, enjoy the evening."

He towed the witch gently out of the circle, thanking Merlin when Potter's cry of outrage was quelled by the redheaded matriarch as she rationalized with her equally volatile youngest son. He was halfway to the exit when Granger ground her heels to the marble of the floor and spun him around to face her furious glare. The panic rose again and he winced as she opened her mouth to no doubt protest his manhandling of her person.

"Explain yourse-,"

“Something’s wrong,” he blurted, willing her telepathically to see the panic in his face, before dragging her after him as he fled the Hall.

“What- _Malfoy,_ let me go this instant!” the witch stumbling behind him snapped, prying herself out of his grip as soon as they came to a halt. “What is wrong with you? You know they still hate you right? Harry and Ron are going to _kill_ you- what is wrong with you?”

“Granger, _fuck_ \- something is wrong, alright? Very wrong,” he tried, cradling his head in his hands as the pressure in his skull increased frighteningly.  

She glanced at him carefully, eyes growing less annoyed. “Was it a vision?”

“I can’t explain it, Granger, but something is wrong! I’ve been feeling scared out of my mind this whole time and it’s not my own fear… something’s happened.”

Granger looked _Petrified_. “Shit. Can’t you figure out where she is? If she’s somewhere in the castle we can find her, right? Sigh, she should’ve been in the Hall for the Memorial- everyone was told to be there!”

“You can’t seriously be thinking of docking points now Granger,” Draco spat, annoyed. “And we don’t even know who she is- and worse, she could be dead by now. The castle is so massive, we’ll never find her.”

“Can’t you try and peek into her mind? Soul mate magic should be a two-way thing,” Granger offered, skittishly hopping from foot to foot. “Maybe we should tell McGonagall?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Granger. We don’t know who the girl is, we don’t know where she is- we’ll just sound crazy. I’ll sound crazy. With my… visions,” Draco sighed heavily. “And I can’t do that voluntarily, Granger. It just happens.”

“Drat,” the witch swore, crumpling the sides of her dress with fisted hands. “Wait! This whole time you’ve been feeling her fear, right? That’s what you told me. What if that’s just part of the vision? The visuals are there for you, but you’re stopping them somehow? Can you stop trying to block them out?”

“I’m not blocking-,”

“Aren’t you an Occlumens?” she pointed out rather bitterly. “Maybe your mind is blocking out something it doesn’t want to see. The fear might’ve flipped a trigger defence. The other visions weren’t half as scary so they passed.”

Draco stared at her with a blank face. “I’m beginning to realise that you bullshit more than you actually use your brain Granger.”

“Think about it,” she hissed, impatiently. “And hurry up! Occlumency blocks out invasive thoughts, right?”

“That can’t be it.”

“Then _you_ think of something, if you’re such a genius” Granger snarled, hands spasming at her sides. “And make it quick!”

Draco shifted uncomfortably, but managed to cover up his unease with a practised sneer. “ _Fine_. I think it’s this.”

He pulled the tiny circlet of thorns Luna had gifted him out of his pocket and enlarged it, before tossing the object towards Granger. She caught it with a sharp glare in his direction, and proceeded to prod at the berries in the wreath with curiosity, hissing lightly when she pricked her finger on a thorn. She turned it over and over and held it to the light, and he was just about to snap at her for being so slow when she looked up at him with a spark in her eyes.

“You’re right! It looks like a dream catcher… although it’s pretty rustic and I don’t really understand the components. I’ve never been too keen on Native American cultures though, especially their magical folk. How did you get this?”

“Luna,” he offered simply, running a hand through his hair and frowning down the corridor. “We need to go towards the stairs.”

Granger glanced at him strangely, looked at the wreath in her hands and back up at him. “Go, go!” was all she said, before picking up her skirts and rushing down the corridor. He followed easily, heart pounding with anxiety and worry. The emotions were his entirely, but his thought process was being bombarded now- something swirled in his mind, giving him a sense of direction, someplace he should be.

“The dream catcher must’ve been filtering your visions somehow,” Granger panted out, taking the stairs two by to as he leaped up them by the threes ahead of her. “I’m going to leave it here on this floor you can come get it later. Ready?”

“For?” Draco managed to ask, twisting around as he ran to watch her toss the ring of briars onto the floor they’d just passed.

His head went completely blank for a second and then it all rushed in towards him in a tumultuous tumble of thoughts, emotions and visuals- seizing the air right out of his lungs. Draco gasped painfully as the full wrath of the vision pummelled him to the ground, leaving him wheezing for air and grasping the banister for support as the stairs swung precariously. He was transported to a darkened room somewhere in the castle, unused yet familiar. Black acrid smoke drifted into his eyes and tortured his senses and smooth tile slipped under his shoes. A mirror stared at a blank wall, with cracked right down its middle, reflecting fragments of an image, like those muggle kaleidoscopes.

“Girl’s bathroom,” he choked out, and Granger was dragging him to his feet and they were moving again. She pressed the wreath she’d _accio’d_ back into his hands and the torture lessened in its intensity, allowing Draco to _breathe_. They stumbled and ran up the stairs and across the second floor, crashing right through the unused bathroom door when they reached it, breaths held and wands drawn.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIII  
> so yeah, I know it's a short chapter, and yes... it's a cliffhanger. But here's why- I really wanted this chapter to stand out from the others. It's broken up into parts because the emotion in all three are significantly different. It's also the chapter when Everything Goes To Shit. I wanted to put up chapter five alongside this but I haven't written it as I write this note so I'm not sure when it will be up. Sorry!  
> Meanwhile... leave a comment? Eheh, even the smallest of comments are helpful and inspiring.  
> Thanks for reading! Hugs for all<3


	5. Investigation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! And on schedule as well!  
> Hope this chapter lives up to your expectations, and let me also WARN you guys- this isn't a typicla soul mate fic... not even a typical romance. It's an adventuure and a creepy one!  
> Also, I wrote this in six or seven hours on my phone when I was filling in for my lit teacher at school- ONLY BECAUSE YOUR REVIEWS MAKE ME WANT TO SHARE THE STORY SO FAST WITH YOU GUYS <3  
> anyway... read on children!

Darkness greeted them, leaking past their feet in swirling tendrils smokily, and clogging the air with a vaguely familiar stench. The unused bathroom seemed completely devoid of life, emanating a bone chilling rawness, and Draco could barely think over the heart-sinking thought that his soul mate might have died. But then Granger casted a _Lumos_ and pointed her wand towards the furthest bathroom stall, the light interrupting his internal worry.

The door was scorched beyond recognition, soot and grimy black substances marking the tiled floor and the arched stone ceiling. The deep obsidian of the remnants and it’s strange pull shocked Draco back into the situation, and he grabbed Granger by the forearm before she could attempt to investigate it. 

"Dark magic," he hissed between grit teeth, eyes narrowing and muscles rigid under his skin. 

He should've felt it when he'd walked in, he shouldn't have been so careless as to put Granger in harm's way. The pull of the magic residue was barely there, but the effect should be familiar enough for him to recognise in his sleep. He was as bad as a Gryffindor now, barging head first into trouble. 

"I know," the witch huffed back, clearly unimpressed at his proclamation. "Give me some credit, Malfoy."

She cast a glance around the lavatory, glaring daggers at a particular tap by the sinks before moving her wand to observe the furthest bathroom stall again. The remnants of the dark magic spell simmered under the light of her _lumos_ and Draco fought the urge to flee from its dulled pull. It reminded him of everything he'd escaped by coming to Hogwarts; the ancient stones of the Manor, seeped in darkness and corrupted beyond saving. Rooms he could never hope to cleanse; thick with haunting memories of suffering, pain and quiet horror. He shook himself tightly and cast a wary glance of his own around the dimly lit room. 

"We should tell McGonagall," Granger suggested, mouth twisted unsurely.

Draco shook his head. "We need to figure out what was cast."

"How, Malfoy?" Granger sighed, turning to face him. "We don’t have the caster's wand and we don't want to invoke whatever was just cast. Also, this is proof that something happened here and that someone is in danger."

She watched him stand in place and sighed again, albeit frustratedly this time.

"Fine, stay here if you want, but I'm doing the responsible thing," she huffed, spinning on her heel.

Draco let her head for the exit, mind swirling in search of a nugget of information that niggled at him but refused to reveal its importance. He frowned at the sinks, watching the way the mirrors caught the receding light from Granger's wand. He'd spent many a night in this very bathroom, crying himself to the point of exhaustion with nothing but absolute fear to propel him to wake up the next day. He shuddered as Granger undid her spell, stealing away the light source and then it clicked. He barrelled right past the witch in the wake of his realisation. The thought hadn't even completed itself in his mind, yet he found his feet moving, propelling him out the bathroom with Granger in tow.

"What is with you and dragging me around?" the witch snapped, stumbling behind him.

"Moaning Myrtle," he said in a way of explanation.

"What-,"

"She's usually in there- that's her bathroom!"

"She could've left-"

"She never leaves. Even if you want her to. Trust me- I've been there and I've tried."

He could feel her frown and run through the idea. “She could've left sensing danger. Some ghosts did that during the war.”

"Myrtle was bound to her bathroom, Granger," he replied, feeling more confident in his point. "Ministry's orders."

"How do you even know this?"

"She told me."

Granger went quiet at that and he chanced a glance over his shoulder to watch her think as they strode purposefully in the same direction.

"Whatever happened in there happened in her stall. Blaise told me someone was wailing in there- it must have been Myrtle. It makes sense."

"No it doesn’t," she replied, catching up to him as they rushed down the stairs. "You're seeing links where there's a lack of information. Why was she crying? And your mind link... how does that fit in?"

"Well, doesn't matter anyway we're both headed for McGonagall," he answered, unswayed in his conclusion. 

"You can't tell her all that! You said you didn’t want to sound crazy to her," Granger protested. "It’s not some... no one's out to get Moaning Myrtle. That wasn't some kind of exorcism."

" _Exorcism!_ That's the word I was looking for, thanks Granger."

She grumbled as she followed behind, muttering vague obscenities with regards to his eccentric ideas, or as she dubbed it, 'crazy talk'.

"McGonagall will think you're mad," she warned, as they slipped back into the Great Hall, meandering through the crowd. 

"I'll take that chance," he replied, mocking her matter-of-fact tone.

"You bastard!" 

Draco nearly flinched at what he thought was far too dramatic a reply from Granger, before he caught sight of the swinging fist, thanked Merlin for his Seeker reflexes, and ducked. 

Ron Weasley was squealing in anger, face red and blotchy, barely restrained by another tired looking Weasley. Somewhere behind the duo was Potter, who was apparently incensed at Granger's disappearance and was now telling her so.

"You can't just drag her away like that, she's not a toy!" Weaselbee snapped in his face, arms twitching even as they were restrained by his brother. 

"Let it go, Ronnekins," Percy Weasley sighed. "They obviously have duties to attend to. You'd know something about it if you’d been a Prefect."

"Oh sod off, Perce!" the younger Weasley grunted. "And this is Malfoy we're talking to- I can skin him alive whenever I damn please."

"I'd appreciate if you tried that after the event is over- McGonagall would be displeased if there was blood shed at her beloved memorial," Draco drawled, put off by the redhead's posturing on behalf of his friend. "I think she's trying to make it an annual thing."

"And I'd appreciate it if you didn't bother George anymore- or... or I'll make beating you to a pulp an annual thing!" 

"Well, you can be the messenger boy for McGonagall whenever she wants fireworks then."

Percy Weasley sighed long-sufferingly. 

"Nobody's asking you to be here," Ron snapped, eyeing his brother over his shoulder. "Leave and let me punch his ferret nose into the ground."

"Ronald! This is a _memorial_ for Merlin's sake! Mother will have your balls for pot roast if she finds you here, yelling like a madman."

Draco fought the urge to snigger childishly.

"He manhandled Hermione," the younger Weasley pointed out with a scowl. 

"And Hermione can handle herself," the witch in question huffed, storming up to them with a red faced Potter in tow. The Saviour cast an apologetic glance at his redheaded friend and winced as Granger's berating voice resumed. 

"You two should be ashamed of yourselves! Honestly- acting like a pair of children. You're both Aurors now, and Aurors _don't_ act like this."

"Aurors have to protect," Ron tried, mulishly, and Draco could feel Granger's ire rise. 

Potter seemed to notice too and mouthed nice going at his pouting friend before Granger started spitting fire.

"I do not need protecting, Ronald," she seethed, marching forward so she stood under his nose with a finger firmly pointed against his chest. "I'm not a frail witch, I'm as strong as both of you and I don't understand why you can't see that! You don't have to do this... this... overprotective brother shtick when you obviously don't mind leaving me behind!"

"Hermione-,"

Draco sensed they'd stumbled into personal territory and he tried to melt away into the crowd before the Trio started hashing their dirty laundry and dragged him into it. He quietly ducked behind a Ministry official's overly costumed wife, and darted through the crowd in search of the Headmistress' pointed face. Or hat. Either would be a prominent marker. 

He found her chatting up the Minister of Magic and his family, smiling as widely as she ever physically could, which wasn't much, and whistling her words through dry, old lips. He cringed at the thought of having to interrupt them but moved forward nonetheless. 

"Headmistress," he ventured, standing off to a side. "If I may?"

Kingsley glanced over at him and smiled carefully, eyes alight. No doubt he was proud of his achievement- old oaf probably thought he'd saved wizard-kind already, as if society had fixed itself miraculously when he'd forced it to. 

McGonagall looked unimpressed with his attempt at polite interruption and looked him with a frown that was directed down her nose. 

"Is it important, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked, looking for all the world like she wanted him to say otherwise.

He nodded silently and tried to channel the seriousness of the situation through his face. 

"Well," the Headmistress sighed, giving in to his compelling look. "If you'd give us a moment, Minister-,"

"Headmistress!"

"Oh, what now?"

"Oh drat, Malfoy? What did you tell her- what did he tell you, Professor? It’s not true, the lot of it. The very idea of an exorcism is preposterous, let alone in a _bathroom_ of all places!"

Draco eyed the Granger's triumphant smirk and slowly inclined his head in the direction of the rest of their party. The Minister of Magic nodded in acknowledgement of Granger's wide eyed stare at his presence and frowned a little when she began choking on air. 

"Miss Granger, Mister Malfoy- my office. _Now_."

McGonagall's eerie glare had both Prefects nodding and rushing after her as she swept out of the Hall with gracious strides, internally wondering why on earth she'd been burdened with nosy students for every issue that cropped up. 

* * *

 

 

"You are such a swot, Granger."

"And you've absolutely lost it!"

"It's not a great leap of logic, I don’t understand why you refuse to-,"

"It's just not realistic!"

"Okay enough," McGonagall commanded, returning to the room to sit stiffly in her high back chair, running a weary finger along the bridge of her nose. "I sent word to Professor Slughorn; he will ward off the bathroom and inspect the damage. If what you say is true, and there are traces of dark magic, we'll contact the Aurors. If not, then I must compel you both to keep your wits together and not worry the other students and teachers alike." 

"But Headmistress," Draco tried, leaning forward in his chair to catch her attention. 

The glare she shot him prompted him to slide back into the chair and keep his protest to himself.

Granger snickered.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, in saccharine sweetness.

McGonagall eyed Granger's eerily gleeful smile warily and shook her head. "I don't want any whispers of exorcism conspiracies circulating the school, Mister Malfoy. As we know, ghosts cannot be killed. Myrtle must be around somewhere in the castle."

"But-,"

"Not now, Mister Malfoy. And _you_ , Miss Granger. Apologise to the Minister when you return to the Hall. That was very rude and unnecessary of you."

Draco smirked quietly at the now flustered Gryffindor and turned back to the Headmistress to plead his case further. 

"I want the both of you to know that we'll do whatever we can to make sure no one is in trouble, and that Mister Malfoy is cared for- but I'm sure Mister Malfoy's... _predicament_ is nothing more than a charm gone wrong. I'll speak to Poppy about it and see if she can reverse it somehow. That is all, you may leave. Remember your duties for the evening."

She rose imperiously from her chair and glided towards the door, nowhere as graceful as what Narcissa Malfoy used to be, but close enough to her icy demeanour for Draco to understand that the discussion was closed. 

"Headmistress," he muttered suddenly, a small memory snagging his attention as it whirled past in his mind, almost forgotten amongst the rest of his problems. 

McGonagall turned to face him with a stony look upon her face and he warily glanced towards Granger before continuing. 

"Um... well, the Slytherins," he began, wishing he hadn't spoken in front of Granger about this problem."They're having some issues."

"Is that so?"

"Yes ma'am. They're being bullied relentlessly and it’s getting very violent. If I may appoint a prefect to patrol the Slytherin tower after curfew, it would be beneficial for their safety."

McGonagall looked sour, but her eyes softened and she glanced in Granger's direction before slowly nodding her assent. 

"One prefect," she specified, and to Draco's relief added; "Anyone of your choice."

He nodded his thanks and watched her head for the exit, before jumping slightly out of his skin when a corporeal patronus glided through the very wood of the door itself. The wispy blue walrus came to a halt beside the Headmistress and narrated a message in Horace Slughorn's voice. 

"Minerva, come quickly- something is very wrong! I took the liberty to put word to Whitehall and I'm sure you'll thank me. Robards is on his way, and I suggest you send the party out to watch the fireworks while we investigate this."

The walrus gave a final sniffle before disappearing into the air, leaving a shocked McGonagall, a pensive Granger and a smirking Draco Malfoy in the wake of its startling message. 

"Well, you two best be off- make sure the display goes well," McGonagall said finally, much to their dismay. 

"But Headmistress-,"

"Enough, Mister Malfoy. Now go."

They took their leave before she did, muttering quietly to themselves as they headed back to the Hall. 

"I can't believe she won't let us come with. They'll need a statement from us anyway- we found it out," Draco mused aloud, fussing with a clasp on his dress robes. 

Granger glanced his way. "Sorry Malfoy, I didn't believe you."

"Hmm?"

"You're probably right, something shifty is going on- and I've been thinking."

"When do you not?"

"You can't kill ghosts, but you _can_ expel them... so what if someone did have it out for poor Myrtle? And she was confined to her bathroom; I remember it being mentioned in _Hogwarts: A History_ \- although why she told you or why you even remember is beyond me."

"Those were dark times, Granger," he said simply. "She listened."

"That's... um-,"

"Well she spoke mostly and it was annoying but she was the only one who did, so it was welcome. Anyway, she’s not nearly as helpful as you are Granger, don't worry. You're not being one-upped by a ghost."

"Oh don't be a prat about it. I just admitted that you were right, take it and be smarmy elsewhere, if you want."

Draco only chuckled in reply. The wreath was still in his pocket, so he placed a careful hand inside his robes and felt for it, just to reassure himself. Things weren't over yet, and he needed the strength to face another vision, whenever it happened.

"I'm sorry about what's happening to the Slytherins," Granger ventured as they neared the Hall. "I can help, I'm sure you know that."

Draco nodded silently.

"Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. 

"Fine, then I will. I think it’s unfair that they're taking out their anger and pain on innocent kids, those kids did nothing to deserve it. They don't even know much about the War. And they've just got their own tower- I think it’s ridiculous for anyone to feel safer in a dungeon than in a tower. This is all sorts of ridiculous."

“Let’s hope the power of your hatred is enough to change the tides of societal aggression. Fighting fire with imaginary fire, I like your style, Granger.”

"There you are 'Mione!" 

Draco grimaced as Potter and Weasley marched towards them from where they'd been hovering around the entrance to the Great Hall, interrupting the witch’s reply to his sarcastic remark. The redhead scowled when he caught sight of Draco but kept quiet, uncharacteristically. 

"We've been looking for you, you bolted again," he pronounced, casting a worried glance at the witch beside him. 

"We're sorry, 'Mione," Potter sighed. "Things are different, I get it. Ron will get it in time. But you've got to stop leaving us suddenly without word- it's worrisome."

"Why, Harry, I remember you disappearing on us all the time whenever you had some scent of danger," Granger replied primly, seemingly playing at being unforgiving.

Potter fell for her ruse and sighed again. "I'm sorry, 'Mione! I was stupid and young and I can't believe you're making me say this in front of Malfoy, but I really am sorry."

"Please," Ron added helpfully. 

Granger grinned then and leaped at them, gathering the duo into her arms for a hug.

"I didn't leave you two on purpose, you dolts... but I did have some duties to attend to. With Malfoy," she explained when she drew back. "I swear I'm not trying to spite you two. Now won't you accompany us to the grounds for the fireworks display? You've still got to tell me about Auror training schedules!"

Weasley eyed her strangely and shrugged. "They're hectic, that's all."

Granger was undeterred. "Well then Malfoy and I will tell you about the potions class we're teaching, come on!" 

And with that she skipped down the hallway with both boys on her arms, nodding at Patil and Boot as they passed by, leading the rest of the guests to the Quidditch Pitch. Draco tailed behind the trio before slipping away when they merged with the crowd. He found Patil not long after and sidled up to her, intent on being her company for the rest of the night. She glanced up at him, frowned at his innocent look and flicked her thick braid off her shoulder. 

"Where's your girlfriend?"

"Who, Granger?" Draco asked, sputtering on air. 

"No," she snickered, nose ring glinting in the light as the first firework exploded mid-air, casting red, gold and yellow across the field. "Brown."

She waggled her eyebrows suggestively and smirked at his paling face. 

"I don't know where you get your gossip but it’s always eerily relevant and wrong at the same time."

Patil shrugged, casting away creases from the pleats of her sari with careful hands. "I meet people... talk to them, sleep around."

Draco laughed aloud. "Yeah right ok, now I _know_ you get it all from Brown herself."

"She could be more than just a friend!" Patil huffed indignantly, watching the blue and silver light bathe the crowd with the shape of a bird in flight.

"Does she single-handedly run the rumour mill here?" Draco pondered, purposefully ignoring her attempts to convince him of her love life. "Or is _she_ the rumour mill herself?"

"Good question, Malfoy, but a better question would be why you ditched me, and I'd like an answer, thanks."

Draco glanced around, startled, as Patil snickered loudly at Granger's sudden appearance. 

"Looks like you two have something to hash out," the prefect smirked, before taking her leave with a subtle wink.

Draco ignored her attempts at being suggestive and instead focused his amusement on the bristling witch beside him. Her pale blue dress glowed purple under the dragon firework that exploded into sparks up above them and her face reflected the flecks of light. 

She looked annoyed. 

"Look I told you that you were right, you don't have to be like this," she muttered, glaring daggers up into his soul. 

"Be like what? Granger if you thought I was going to join you and your threesome for a round of fireworks, you thought wrong. Just because I can tolerate you doesn't mean I'm automatically friends with your baggage."

Granger winced at that and sighed. "Is that what you do? Tolerate me?"

Draco groaned. "That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean?"

"I- _urgh_ , witch, must you make me say it? Fine, we're as civil as friends are so that makes us companions."

Granger smirked behind a hand and then turned to face the sky. "Thanks. You know you have quite a few friends. You should admit it to yourself. Luna is a friend, she told me so. She likes your aura, apparently."

Draco nodded absently, watching the mesmerising display as it danced across the sky, lighting the field brightly in sudden flashes with sparks that whorled and spun against the stars and fizzed and rained down on the spectators down below. George Weasley had come through.

"And Hagrid too, he really is getting much better at Care of Magical Creatures, and his classes are way more safe and fun. You two work well. You're doing great, Malfoy."

"Is this where we say how much we love each other?"

Granger laughed at that and swished her skirts around her. "We're not going there, Malfoy. Now let's sit, my feet are tired and I'm so mad at McGonagall I need to vent."

"What happened to Wonder Boy and the other one?" Draco asked as they settled onto the grass, Granger stuggling to fix her dress around her. 

"Don't be an ass, Ron is a wonderful person and he's as important to this world as I am."

Draco snorted. "Yeah okay, I wouldn't pick him over you to even talk about the weather, though. But do go on."

Granger waved off his impudence with an airy laugh. "Yeah well, Harry really doesn’t hate you, Malfoy. He's... he's tired now. Nothing is the same after the War, and Harry lost a lot of people- like you. Like the rest of us. He'd be the last person to hold a grudge against someone for something as petty as a school rivalry."

"It’s far more than that Granger, I let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts, and my family tortured you all and fought against you."

The witch sighed heavily, pulling up blades of grass by the fistful as a golden phoenix shimmered in the sky. "Yeah well... call it what you will, Harry is over it. He's over the War. Someone might say its selfish, to truly get over something as massive as a war, but war dictated our lives ever since we got here- and more than us it controlled Harry. He was a pawn, more or less. He knows what it’s like to have little choice. You were just unlucky to be a pawn for the wrong side. And if you were nice to him he'd tell you this himself, but you're being an _idiot_ so I'm here telling you instead. Sure he still thinks you're an ass but that's mostly your fault and I can't contest that."

"Weaselbee hates me," Draco pointed out for the sake of it. 

"Well, I can't speak for Ron, but I know he's hurting."

Draco nodded with a hum.

"How do you-,"

"I spoke to George Weasley for the fireworks. And I do know how many Weasleys exist and can tell apart from when someone's missing or when someone's dead. For instance, at the Memorial earlier, Weaslette was missing but Weasley twin is dead."

"Yes, Fred," Granger corrected. "And Ginny was there today, I saw her when it started… her dress was _beautiful_. Who I didn't see was Zabini."

"Blaise?" Draco asked, confused. "Maybe he's jacking off somewhere with some dumb witch who's legal. Why'd you sound suspicious?"

Granger sighed at his crudeness and tossed a handful of grass and dirt in his direction. "Must you be so crass? And yeah maybe he is... but something this dark had to be cast by someone, and Blaise Zabini is a good person to start with."

"Can't be- my visions showed the bathroom which meant the girl was there. At the scene."

"You saw the scene? As it happened?" Granger asked, jerking upright.

"Noo... but I saw the aftermath when you took away the dream snatcher. She had to be there for me to see that, right?"

"Well yes, but it does mean someone else could've cast the spell and hurt Myrtle. And it’s a dream _catcher_."

Draco mused over the thought. "We must have _just_ missed her. She was in the bathroom when we were on the stairs, but that’s assuming there isn't a lag."

Granger went quiet for a while and he took the opportunity to glare up at the stars for his misfortune. The witch beside him started chuckling then and he narrowed his eyes at her when he turned. 

"Your soul mate likes to read racy drivel then?" she snickered, eyes tearing at the strength of her laughter. "That might be interesting."

Draco stared at her, nonplussed, before groaning aloud and throwing himself back against the grass to lie down in embarrassment. "Screw you, witch," he mumbled into his arm. 

He heard her shuffle around, presumably for a comfortable position, and then the around them silence resumed, bubbled away from the chatter of the crowd and interrupted only by the fizzes and bangs of the display up above.

* * *

  
Draco had begun regretting ever waking up in the morning when he found Granger missing. He should've stayed in his dorm and feigned some sickness instead of venturing out into the world. With Granger gone off somewhere, all the Prefects looked to him for their morning talk and he stiltedly ran through their objectives for the day as with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. He'd taken Patil to a side and asked her if she could handle the Slytherin issue to which she'd shook her head, claiming she had way too much exam work to catch up on. She'd turned then and announced to the room at large about the new duty and Draco had cringed, expecting complaints and cheers for the bullying. He had been far too dramatic with his expectations however, as the others merely groaned a little at the information about the bullying and ran through their schedules aloud in an attempt to find the perfect candidate. Boot was free on three days and Ginny Weasley volunteered for the rest. They agreed to put in an extra hour after normal patrol duty to essentially _guard_ the Slytherin tower until something more permanent and effective could be arranged. 

Draco had then walked into a potions classroom that was full of eager First Years and lacking one Hermione Granger, and he nearly cursed his bad luck then and there. Instead, he gathered himself, greeted the class of cowering young witches and wizards and began a lesson. 

He was watching them scribble away, quills moving frantically, when Granger finally appeared.   
She burst in through the door, robes in her arm and school uniform wrinkled across her body. She shot a smile at the class and urgently waved Draco over. He sauntered towards her carefully, eyeing her state of disarray. 

"Is this a walk of shame?" he asked quietly when he was close enough.

She swatted him violently across the chest with a glare. "I have very important information; don't tempt me to withhold it from you. But Hagrid needs you, I ran into Professor Sprout on the way here and she told me to tell you. I'll find you sometime during lunch; now go I'll take Potions."  
Draco gathered his things from the teacher's table and glanced over at the class who was watching them with comically wide eyes. He gave them a good glare and headed for the door.

"What are we up to today class?" he heard Granger ask brightly.

"Mister Malfoy made us record our mistakes with the boil cure last time!"

The door shut behind him as he left and drowned out Granger's undoubtedly exasperated answer.

He made his way to Hagrid's building with trepidation and clung to the dream catcher in hopes it would ward away an attack if one ever came.

Hagrid was out in the Pumpkin Patch looking around for him when he arrived. The half-giant seemed worried as he rushed over, tiny black eyes glinting with concern. 

"Draco, m'boy," he called, voice laboured by his heavy breathing. "Come quickly."

Draco hurried after him as they headed into the building.

"Hagrid, what's wrong?" he asked, peering around the room. 

"It's Olc," the teacher said quickly, leaning over the metal pen that held the baby dragon. "He's awf'lly ill."

Draco crowded around the pen to reach over towards the dragon. The baby was strangely quiet and looked remorseful. "What happened?"   
"Simple fever, Charlie said. I floo'd 'im," Hagrid intoned deeply. "But Olc, 'ees uncomfertable an' sad, yer know. I can't teach with 'er being sick."

Draco caught on. "I'll watch her, Hagrid. You go take class."

"Oh no, Draco I thought yer could take class for me. I'll take care of the wee 'un."  
Draco paused as he stroked Olc's scaly nose and wrinkled his own in reply. "Hagrid that's not a good idea."

The half-giant seemed to have made up his mind. "Draco, yer a good lad. I really think yer up for this. They're just Fifth Years, they don't bite."

"They do, Hagrid. Not as bad as your hippogriff, but they do in their own human way."

Hagrid smiled wryly and petted Olc as she snored quietly in the pen, buried and smothered under cooled, slim stones, made to resemble the cold, reptilian comfort of a mother dragon's embrace.

"I appreciate yer help, Draco. I really think yer a good 'un with th' animals. I ev'n told McGonagall. Tryit- just this once, lad."

And somehow Draco couldn't find it in himself to disagree. 

* * *

 

The class stared back at him with equal parts fear and disgust. He wasn't well loved in this school, he knew that, but he didn't have to communicate this much with the kids who'd known about the war but hadn't been so personally involved. They may have lost family members or loved ones but hadn't lost their childhood to the cause or the destruction. They were inbetweeners; awkwardly carrying the prejudice of war yet strangely disconnected from it all.

It was a difficult place to be in and thus they remained staunchly wary of him due to his reputation as an ex-Death Eater, yet were curious enough to pay attention as he wielded a snake-like creature at them with no worry as to whether he'd kill them all.

Draco appraised the feathered serpine creature in its nest in the cage Hagrid had procured for safety, and turned back to face the class.

"Who can tell me what this is?" 

The class fell silent, quietly observing its magnificent plumes, shimmering with deep blues, bruising purples, aqueous greens and bright turquoises as it twined around in the cage. It truly was breath-taking. Draco was awed by its presence and could barely understand how one magical creature could astonish a crowd of unruly students, and he himself. 

"It's an Occamy, sir," someone piped up, and Draco sought out the student among the class and nodded. 

"That's right, it’s an Occamy, and who can tell me where they're from?"

When no one answered he continued on himself. "Occamies are traditionally native to the far East, India specifically. They're classified as extremely dangerous creatures, and there has only ever been one Occamy on Hogwarts grounds before. You'll find more about them in your text book, Fantastic Beasts, and I suggest you read up on them for today's assignment."

The class murmured as he ventured towards the cage. "Can anyone tell me why they're dangerous?"

"Er... yes!" another voice called. "They're very territorial!"

"Exactly," Draco replied, eyeing the creature warily. "But Hagrid says she's used to people and is known to ‘ _allow’_ people to handle her."

"Can we have turns?" someone asked. 

The brown kid in the back with greedy eyes.

"No," Draco snapped vehemently. "No one but Hagrid and I are issued by the Ministry to handle the animals and if anyone else gets hurt it'll be our fault not theirs."

"You got attacked by an animal, didn't you," someone snickered. 

Draco tried his best not to glare. "Yes. I did. And while I'm sure the story you heard was hilarious, it was actually terrifying. Hippogriffs have strong beaks and can be vicious when they feel threatened. Occamies are ten times worse and can maim you beyond recognition, so I suggest none of you attempt to do anything stupid."

He approached the cage with care and dipped a hand inside, quietly watching the creature for its consent. The class held their breaths quite violently; he could see their chests puff out in an attempt to not breathe and interrupt the moment.

The Occamy slithered around itself, two feet reaching out to clutch at his fingers and Draco let out a heavy breath when it crawled up his proffered arm, eyes never breaking contact as it used its majestic wings to propel itself further up his limb. It grew in size ever so slightly as it made its way out of the cage, wings unfurling to a size that could not have possibly fit inside its previous confines. It’s tail wound around his wrist for purchase and it dramatically reared upwards to glance towards the class, large beady eyes shining in the sunlight. It really was a crowd pleaser, he thought proudly, despite only having met the creature a few weeks ago.

He had his sleeves pushed up over his forearms so the creature could wrap around his skin. They were frightfully untrusting and preferred skin to skin contact when being handled, according to its handler, if they chose to be handled at all. Draco supposed this was because they could feel the changes in his pulse and could tell if it was in danger. Or maybe it could read his mind. Magical creatures were notorious for having secrets even magizoologists didn't know about, despite them being well known animals.

The class sighed in collective awe and crept closer. The reptilian creature twisted tighter around his arm in warning and Draco motioned at them to stay in place.

"Occamies are highly untrusting, why?" he asked the class. "You, green hair- go."

"Um... they have trust issues?"

"Not an answer," he sighed. "Kid who knew the first two answers."

The slim blonde perked up at her mention and nodded frantically. "Yea, they are super protective of their eggs!"

"Right. Their eggs are made of the most pure silver, and that makes them the target of many greedy predators- primarily, and most dangerously, witches and wizards. I'll give you five minutes to observe her, and them I want you to try and guess at her other features."

The class nodded enthusiastically and pulled out their books and quills, finding spots on the ground and on tree stumps to sit and scribble away. A few minutes later, they clamoured around him again.

"They're a snake-bird hybrid!" a boy called Amal guessed, waving his sketch around for attention.  
Draco shook his head with a quiet laugh and nodded at the next student who guessed that Occamies were related to dragons.

"Why'd you think that?"

"Most reptile families are related in their features- like with body temperature and stuff. So maybe Occamies share DNA with dragons?"

Draco appraised the boy who'd answered, with newfound respect for the class' overall intelligence.

"Yes, I'm a muggleborn," the boy said suddenly, raising himself high for an unseen challenge.

Draco nodded slowly. "I am aware, they don't teach you about DNA in Hogwarts," he said carefully. 

The boy deflated, almost as if he felt he passed a test of some sorts. Draco watched him smile then and wondered if he, the big bad Death Eater, had been the one who'd been tested.

"Well, Occamies have been known to nest like Dragons, but magical animals aren’t categorised in the way muggles do. So we don't call them reptiles and mammals. What is the primary classification used by the Ministry?"

This time the brown, lanky boy with the mischievous face decided to answer. "Beings, Beasts and Spirits. Me dad's in the DRCMC."

Draco nodded and glanced over at the Occamy. She looked unimpressed.

“Well, the most impressive thing about Occamies is that they are choranaptyxic, which means they can change size to fit into different spaces. The rest of the lesson progressed without a hitch and soon he was releasing the creature back into her magical cage in which she would stay until Hagrid let her loose into the basement, which was slowly yet surely being transformed with various glamours and charms into a magnificent menagerie. Draco found himself a little excited at the prospect of soon being able to visit the basement himself. He'd heard Hagrid boast about it, having borrowed the idea from one of his idols, and since then Draco had been vaguely intrigued by it all. He watched the Occamy preen its feathers and began rolling his cuffs back down to his wrists when he noticed a figure standing still beside him.

It was the blonde girl from earlier, and not the muggleborn, so Draco felt rather confused as to her presence. 

"Can I help you?" he asked politely. 

She had her head tilted downwards, her eyes openly glued to his left forearm which hung by his side, bared to the world. 

He felt it twitch involuntarily and she snapped her head up to look into his face.

"Did it hurt?" she asked suddenly, big blue eyes blank. “When you got it?”

He nodded tightly, throat dry and head dully thumping. He hated when people noticed the scar far less than he hated he hated himself for getting it and usually thought that the scorn he received was well deserved, but after a slightly successful day he felt it was unfair. 

She blinked as she peered back at his arm and absently brushed at her own. "That must have been a difficult decision."

He frowned at her. "I've seen you at the Slytherin table."

"Mhm," she nodded. "I'm a Pureblood, yea. But my mam lost our land after father died and it’s been hard. My sister pulled out of school early and I never joined until now. She went to Beauxbatons- said that it’s pretty there. But anyway, we live in pretty neat town- loads of muggles. They love animals there, and my mam taught me to love ‘em too. They got loads of sheep and stuff there. No cool beauties like this girl."

She rocked on her heels as she spoke, awfully casually at that, and whistled towards the Occamy as she ended her sentence. The creature cocked its head at her and she laughed. 

Draco nodded slowly, wondering why she was still speaking to him, her friends standing a ways off, looking on in exasperation.

"You're a good teacher," she continued. "But you look so angry. Are you still angry? About the War?"

Draco shook his head. "Just tired."

"My father was angry a lot... but he never got to be in the war. I think if he was alive he'd have been in the war and everything would've been different you know. Cathy might've had to become a Death Eater. You remind me of Cathy."

"She your sister?" Draco asked carefully, shifting on his feet.

"Yea, Cathy was a beaut. Real pretty. Blonder than me and mam too. When I see you around I remember her. Glad she didn't have to go through that ya know?"

Draco wasn't sure.

"Do you regret it?" she asked suddenly.

"More than anything."

They stood in silence then, her rocking on her heels and him glaring at the crushed leaves upon the forest floor. 

"I'd do it again if it meant I had to save my parents," he added quietly, and the girl nodded. 

"That's what I think Cathy would've done."

She nodded at him with a tight smile and clasped her hands to her chest. 

"Great class though! See you next time. I'll write five pages on this girl instead of two!" 

And with that she waved at the Occamy and flounced back to her friends, linking arms with them to skip back to the castle.

Draco watched them go and pulled his sleeve back over the faded Dark Mark, wondering whether she'd meant to make him feel better or just wanted to talk to someone who looked and resembled her sister. He wondered why she hadn't introduced herself normally but then thought back to Luna and gave up on that thought. Witches were crazy in their own right. 

 _And speak of the devil_ , he thought to himself as he watched Granger detach herself from a tree some ways up ahead and stroll over towards him. Her hair was neater now, and she had her robes on over her uniform. 

“Saw the last bit of your class, she looks really pretty,” she commented, stopping a few feet away when the Occamy hissed at her.

Draco frowned at her before hoisting the cage into his arms. “Stop ogling my students, Granger.”

She flushed a deep scarlet, that rushed across her face and engulfed her freckles in its redness. “I was talking about the _Occamy_.”

“Sure,” he smirked. “She’s heavy though, so tell me fast, I’ve got to hand her to Hagrid or my arms will fall off.”

“Can’t you be a wizard and levitate the cage?” the witch asked smartly, hand on hip.

Draco shook his head as he turned to head for the building in the clearing. “Too slow Granger. Wait out her till I get back. And Aahti here despises being floated around; Hagrid learned that the hard way.”

When he returned, Granger launched directly into her tirade without batting an eyelid, starting to talk even before he’d reached where she stood.

“I have it on good authority that something dangerous has begun on Hogwarts grounds,” she intoned seriously, hands firmly planted on her hips. “The fact that the Head Auror was contacted was reason enough for me to be suspicious, and guess what? They found more than just traces of Dark Magic- they were able to identify which spells were cast.”

“Spells?” Draco asked warily.

“Yes, there were two, cast not long before we entered the bathroom, so the residue was strong enough to extract from- or so they say. Anyway, it isn’t a very rare form of dark magic or anything, but I did a little reading anyway and found that _Exsilium Sanctus_ and _Postremo Mortem_ are common dark exorcism spells.”

Draco inhaled a breath sharply, guts churning with unannounced emotion. “Myrtle’s really gone, isn’t she?”

Granger nodded her head grimly.

“How’d you find this out?” he asked, slightly in awe.

“I asked Harry to keep an eye out in the department for any hints as to what happened and he sent word this morning. I didn’t think he’d reply but I slept in the owlery anyway… just to get his letter before anyone else could see and get Harry in trouble.”

Draco nodded, impressed. “I feel like I should be investigating this more myself- you’ve done all the reading and sleuthing so far.”

Granger blushed. “I like researching, Malfoy. It’s what I’m good at. But if you want to help, come find me in the Library in the evening. I’ve got a free lesson and you can skip Divination for once.”

“My, my,” he smirked. “Delinquent Granger is trying to get me to bunk. Such a bad influence, aren’t we?”

The witch growled under her breath and punched him solidly in the arm. “At least with me you’ll learn _something_ ,” she snarked, making him laugh outright at her thinly veiled barb directed to Trelawney.

“The more you know, eh?” he asked, following her up towards the castle while she nodded primly. “Is this you initiating me into your secret knowledge-seeking cult?”

“Yes, I’m the Illuminati,” she snorted lightly, before pitching her voice low and letting it waver eerily. “Join the dark side, Malfoy- we’ve got _boooks_!”

“Okay Granger,” he smiled wanly at her attempt at a spooky voice and pushed on through the forest. “Lead on.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoo! heavy stuff. ish.  
> loose translations= Exsilium Sanctus- banish ghost // Postremo Mortem- final death  
> So... I've got a lot to explain maybe? idk... leave your questions in the comments and I'll answer them if they're not going to be answered by the next chapter, and also if they're not going to reveal spoilers, eheh. Bear with me trying to write mystery instead of humor.  
> Also one last IMPORTANT thing is that when some characters like the Weasleys and Harry and even Hermione might seem unexplained sometimes, its because this is all from Draco's POV. He refers to them all by their surnames because that's how he thinks of them in his head. None of this is from their perspective, so Draco is an unreliable narrator to a certain extent. Don't rely on his dumb ass for analysis of other characters <3


	6. Immolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the response to chapter 5! love you guys and can't wait to hear about this one.  
> This is a dramione- all i meant with my disclaimer earlier was that it's not the typical romantic take on the soul mate au.  
> Also, WARNING- this chapter has rather graphic depictions of violence, just in case that puts you off.  
> sadly this is a scary fic, so there'll be way more to come!  
> On we go!

Draco decided to forego lunch, found himself in the library before Granger, and tried valiantly to do a smidge of research for himself before she arrived. Truthfully, he'd never been all too great at researching, or collecting information. He knew his father had a way of prompting information out of people as well as the ability to read into situations in order to extrapolate any detail that might be useful to him. But Draco found it to be rather difficult. When presented with the information, he could execute whatever was required _perfectly_ ; be it a potion, a spell or even a ten foot long thesis. Yet his issue lay in _finding_. In his schooling years he'd had Crabbe and Goyle to rummage through tomes for him, marking down all the sentences that had anything remotely close to the subject at hand. The memory of their times spent in the Common Room, studying, was pleasingly bitter-sweet but was tailed with stinging pain, and Draco fought hard to fight back against the memory of the fire in the Room of Requirement. Dunderheads or no, they'd been his companions. And loss was something you couldn't ignore no matter how much you tried. It burrowed into your chest, in the space left by the absence of whomever you'd lost, and stayed there indefinitely, pulsing achingly whenever it was stirred.

Draco had felt the soft ache of loss when he'd finally been able to recognize yesterday's events for what they really meant. Lying in the grass last night with the fireworks exploding overhead, bathing him in sparkling blue, yellow and green light, he'd realized Myrtle was well and truly gone. He hadn't known with certainty that an exorcism had occurred, but something inside him had been sure of it. She was gone for good.

It was a strange realization; he hadn't known her well, hadn't thought of her as someone valuable to him. Maybe she wasn't. Yes, she had listened to him, but that was what ghosts did. She hadn't helped necessarily. She was limited in what she could do, but surely there was some concern to be triggered when a Sixth Year, weary with exhaustion and wrought with anxiety, told you about being enslaved to the Dark Lord's bidding. He'd almost expected Dumbledore to come right after him that year, and frankly, he deeply wished the old fool had. But Draco hadn't been strong enough to tell anyone, not even Snape, and neither was Myrtle. It was either that or she hadn't really cared for his issues at all, but Draco refused to venture any further with that thought.

She was gone now. There was no point getting angry over bygones.

He tried to find out more about the curses that had been used, but struggled. There weren't many books about Dark Magic left after he and Granger had cleared them out. The new books were sparse and weren't very new at all, and when Draco heard movement beside him he almost cried in relief.

"Thank Merlin, Granger," he muttered, lifting his head up from a pile of heavy books to glance up at her. "I was about to- oh."

Blaise Zabini was frowning down at him with a scornful leer. The lanky man slid into the chair oppsite the blond and slouched in it, long limbs prodding the other's shoes, and pianist fingers drumming against the table top.

"So you and the Mudblood, eh?" he mused, raising a dark brow.

Draco rolled his eyes. "What do you want, Zabini? And aren't you all for unity now?"

"Aren't you?" Blaise returned, squinty eyed. "Besides, it's just a word. Nobody minds it."

"Hmm, that’s debatable, but forget it. I repeat- what do you want?"

"Always to tetchy," the Italian tsked. "What? Worried I'm crashing your date? Fear not, Malfoy- I'm leaving soon. Plus Granger's being held up."

"What happened?"

Draco couldn't help but let the panic rise in his chest, clenching around his heart. Had something else happened with his soul mate? Why had he not received a vision? A mind link view to what was going on?

Blaise looked wary of his manic stare. "Don't get your bollocks in a twist, nothing major. I dunno what she's up to... just saw her heading in the other direction in a mighty hurry. Anyways, what I really wanted to know was how you are."

Draco's stare fell and he blinked once. Twice. "Me?"

Blaise looked unimpressed. "Yeah mate," he pushed. "Anything wrong?"

"Not that I know of," Draco replied absently, thrown off guard.

"You can tell me," Blaise pressed, rather intently.

Too forcefully.

Draco's eyes sharpened and he scowled harshly at his fellow Slytherin, causing the other man to recognize his cue to retreat and slouch back in his seat with his palms up to face the blond.

"Ok, ok," Zabini smiled weakly, head lolling forward to hang between his shoulders, messy dark hair flopping forward. "Don't bite, I'm backing up."

"You should leave," Draco stated firmly, grey eyes stormy, fists clenched in his lap.

"I just asked," Blaise protested, head snapping up in annoyance and... something else.

Was he _upset?_ Draco didn't want to think about it.

"We're not friends, Zabini," he stressed. "And you don't care about my health that much is obvious. I don't care for your games and I know you know that I don't play along well, so either ask me what you're really after or leave."

The darker skinned man scowled lightly, before shoving his palms against the desk and jolting to his feet. He bowed slightly over the desk as he rose, lips pulled in a sneer.

"Fine," he spat. "I'll leave you alone, Malfoy. But you look like you're back to that point in your life where you were a scullery maid for the Dark One, rushing around to do his bidding and stressing over his laundry. I'll have you know that this position you have in Hogwarts? It's not yours- it's all a part of some game. Everything you have that’s valuable is part of some game. And if I have any reason to believe you're pulling some Dark shit again, I'll make sure you don’t have any of those things in your life anymore. You're weak, Malfoy. I don't know why they chose you."

With that he kicked the chair out of his way and ungracefully stumbled out of the confines of the desk, before growling all the way to the front of the library.

Draco watched him leave until the shelves obscured his lanky form and let his head drop to his hands. What the fuck had just happened?

Zabini thought he was acting shifty? He supposed he looked as strange as Potter did when his scar had started hurting in class several years back. He'd had visions also, or so the rumors said, and they'd all had to do with the Dark Lord.

Voldemort.

Draco sighed. Even in death the monster still managed to control his people. Draco instinctually referred to him as the Lord. His Lord. The man he worked for. He could admit the man was mad, raving crazy even. He could wholeheartedly proclaim that he hated the cause with all his heart- yet he still felt the control of the madman over his mind and past. An ever present scar, like the Mark he’d branded his cattle with. He was haunted, despite never wanting to be there. He’d never wanted to kill, loot, curse and plunder. Never wanted the tasks he'd been given. He'd _needed_ to join, to make his father proud and to keep his mother safe. He'd _needed_ the mission, to save his family name. He'd _needed_ to stay by the Dark Lord's side to ensure his own safety when the monster moved into his childhood home.

But then he'd stopped needing and started wanting. Wanting something else. He’d wanted to live; wanted to be able to choose for himself, to not have to choose between his mother's death or his own. He hadn't wanted to kill anyone, or to practice torture with Aunt Bella, or watch his schoolmates die in his own house, in his own cellars and dungeons- and it had all started when the trio had stumbled in to the hall. They'd been bloody and disfigured and he hadn't known what had happened, just knew that if Bella got hold of them everything would be worse and she'd go on and on and on and they'd scream so loud he'd hear them till he died. So he'd lied. Sort of. He'd tried, he really had- but he'd never been brave and he'd been taught the merits of staying quiet. Numerous times. Often at the end of a wand and a muttered curse.

Someone was sliding into the chair opposite him, poking at the mound of books, and he snapped his head up to glare at them.

Granger almost squeaked aloud; she backed up against the chair so fast it nearly toppled over.

He felt the toll his thought process had taken on his face and struggled to contain the darkness.

"Sorry," he coughed. "What took you so long?"

She looked unconvinced of his deflection but decided to play with. "A fight broke out in the hallway and some First Year came to get me. It was pretty awful- someone was bleeding all over."

"No one we know?" Draco asked carefully, head bowed to face his open book.

Granger may have shaken her head or nodded, he didn’t know, so he sighed and dragged his head up to raise a brow at her.

She peered at his face, clearly enjoying having forced him to look up, before nodding slowly, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she thought about something.

"Yeah, Dean started it. No surprise there. He hit Millicent I think and that spiraled and soon the Slytherin Sixth Years were at it against the Gryffindor Eighths and some Ravenclaws. Terry was there and Adam, and we had to cast so many binding spells and _Protego_ s, it was... terrible," Granger faltered, voice shaky. "But yeah, that's what happened. Millicent got beat up pretty bad- she was probably the source of the all the blood, but everyone was covered in it so I couldn't tell. We should probably drop by, see how she's doing. It was terrible though, Malfoy. Didn't think I'd have to do... _that_ again. It took me back."

He could tell what she'd been reminded of without having to ask. When he'd been younger, reading fiction about valiant wizards and witches, he'd never expected a magical fight to be that hard. Point and fire, point and fire. Simple. But the hard packed ground was unforgiving when you threw yourself down in an attempt to duck a hex, and when you went down it was harder to gather the strength and willpower to get back up. The smoke and residue of countless spells would attack your face rendering you unable to breathe, unable to scream in retaliation. When something exploded, it rocked the very ground, shaking your brain in your skull, and you'd stagger around for a good five minutes before your orientation kicked in and you remembered how to say words. There had been numerous occasions in which Draco's wand hadn't responded to his rasping words, voice so hoarse after yelling disarming spells across the battlefield. He remembered how difficult it was to hold a wand, thin and frail in your shaking hands- difficult to aim and even harder to trust in. He recalled the feeling of spells whistling past his ear, of dirt packing into his bleeding mouth as he dropped and rolled, of the Cruciatus wracking his body when they inevitably found out he'd cast a grand total of zero Killing Curses after each battle.

Granger looked lost in thought when he zoned back in and it was far too uncomfortable. He felt the irrational urge to apologize for even having a dungeon but he knew that was a result of excessive depressive thoughts and that Granger might not appreciate it.

Instead, he shoved the book shut and sighed. "I can't join your club, Granger. I'm a poor researcher."

She looked up, startled at his sudden pronouncement, and laughed softly. "Right. You, Draco Malfoy, are admitting defeat. Nice one. What's next? Flying _pigs_?"

Draco felt his mouth fall open a little, eyes blurring as he stared past Granger's head, focusing on the bookshelves behind her.

Something was pounding in the recesses of his mind. Something was happening. Or going to. His heart felt like it was preparing for it.

"I know there's no pigs there, Malfoy!" Granger groaned, scowling at him before turning her head to peek over her shoulder.

Draco shook off the feeling. He needed to concentrate. Running a hand past the briars in his pocket, he shook his head.

"Bad joke," he pretended to admit. "So are we researching now?"

Granger looked thoughtful. She bit her lip when she thought, he'd noticed. The lower one would gravitate behind her larger front teeth and she'd bite down on it, sinking into the plump pink flesh as the cogs spun in her head. He worried for her lips then, worried that she'd eat right through them and not notice, and then he'd catch himself and stop. He did that sometimes. Worry about absolutely mundane things about other people.

"No," she pronounced after a while. "I've got something to discuss with you. This whole thing actually."

Draco caught on. "Yeah I suppose we should get this over with. Shoot."

"Let's start from the beginning. You had your vision in the Divination exam and that was... five days ago? Something like that. And since then they were all normal visions yeah? The last normal one was the one in the library yeah? When you were with me?"

Draco paused and mulled the question in his head. "They were normal enough," he explained. "But there was always something off... they were _edgy_. Something was bothering her, or setting her off."

Granger's eyes brightened with focus at his words.

"Got something?" he asked, wary of her answer.

"I was trying to figure out why she was in the bathroom at all. She might've walked in and rushed out quickly when she saw it, it would explain why we didn't catch sight of her. But we also didn't look. She could've been just standing in the hallway and we wouldn't have seen her in our rush. But what I was thinking was that she could've hid in the bathroom also, and we wouldn't have known. We didn't check the stalls, or under the sinks."

She said the last part carefully, eyeing him and his reaction. Draco raised a brow.

"Air out your suspicions, Granger. I might be soul bound to this witch but she's not my wife nor someone I love... yet. So if you're going to implicate her in something then do go ahead. Be direct, I do hate pussyfooting."

Granger grimaced at his choice of words but nodded anyway. "I was just wondering about the plausibility that she might have been involved somehow. I don't think she did it, but she might have been left out to keep watch or bribed into doing... something, you know? It would explain her intense fear. She doesn't quite know what she's doing."

Draco nodded slowly, digesting the information. "But the question still remains... who's doing this? And why?"

"Well I do have my suspicions set on Zabini-,"

"Why Granger, you're as deadset on him as Potter was on me," Draco smirked, unable to resist the barb.

She snorted in reply and waved a hand. "I can be biased against someone if I want to cause I can back my opinion up with enough reasoning. One; he's the only wizard here, apart from you, to be known to associate Dark Wizards. He might not have been part of the war, but I'm certain he's no saint."

She looked at him intently then, and Draco found himself nodding to affirm her thoughts. The Zabini family was large and well connected, with his mother marrying and remarrying as many strong wizards as she could while she still had assets to flaunt. And for every three wizards she bedded and wedded, there was one Dark one. Draco was aware of this as much as he was aware of Blaise's sexuality, his quirks and his strange personality. They weren't friends and never had been- but while he may be poor at gathering information, Draco was good at assessing his enemies. And at that time of his life, everyone had been an enemy.

"Two," Granger continued, snapping her fingers at him to catch his attention. "He's been acting so shady the last few days. I didn't want to mention it to anyone in case they got to thinking that I couldn't handle him-,"

"That's a stupid reason, Granger," Draco snapped, voice in a harsh drawl. His chest tightened with a vague pang of anger and he didn't need to think twice to recognize it for what it was. He tried to tamp down on it and failed, despite knowing Granger would despise it immediately.

"Oh quit it, not you too," she simmered. "I can handle myself, and that's final. I also didn't want to get the Slytherins in trouble if I started telling people that one of them was being a little creepy. I'm still not sure what he was doing but he was always around our dorm, and always left when I glared at him. So it was ok. But still shady."

Draco glared at her one last time and sighed as he fell back to relax in the small wooden chair. "Blaise is acting strange, you're right. He was here earlier, asking after me. It was weird, but he said he was worried I was going crazy for the Dark Lord again."

Granger peered at him through her mass of hair and let out a huff of air. "You do look like you're not getting enough sleep. And you need to eat more Draco, why'd you skip lunch?"

He shook his head, dismissing her concern. "Not now," he muttered.

The feeling of dread was rising again, and he reached for the dream catcher to reassure himself, before the stabbing pain in his head made him freeze in place, teeth clenched and muscles tense. Flashes of another reality slithered in between the library and Granger's stunned face, and he realized that this was important. Whatever he was being protected from seeing was... somehow important. Shit was going down, his mind screamed at him in its frantic state, and he reached for the circle of briars and tossed it towards the witch before him. The last thing he saw were her eyes, blown wide with concern as she caught the rustic dream catcher midair, and then the floodgates burst open and he was calm.

Absolutely calm. The foreign feeling flooded his veins and soothed his beating heart, capturing him in the girl's steady emotion. She was marching through a room, the anxiety from earlier had been dismissed. She was purposeful. He tried to glance around, but he couldn't- her gaze was trained on the floor. Stone passed beneath her feet until they stopped at what looked like a bed and looked up to shove the pearly pink curtains aside... to reveal an empty, neat mattress.

"Hello?" someone rasped. "Who's there? Madam Pomfrey?"

Her heart started thumping faster then, and his sped up terrifyingly as she strode over to the bed and speared through the drawn curtains, staring down into Millicent Bulstrode's battered face. The blood had been cleared off her skin but her cheekbone looked shattered, the flesh there sagging painfully. Her eyes were swelling and she could barely flick them open. Her teeth were stained red when she spoke.

"What- oh, _you_ ," she ground out, voice hoarse and dry. "What are you even-,"

" _Silencio_ ," the girl intoned, and only then did Draco notice the wand held outstretched, so intent had he been on observing Millicent's wounds.

 The Slytherin paled, opening her mouth to protest, panicking when no sound came out. The wand shook briefly before shooting forth a familiar red light and Millicent opened her blood stained mouth to scream and scream and _scream_ in silent agony as her body wracked and bucked with spasms under the spell. Draco felt his gut roil as the sound of bones cracking filled the air and the red spell clouded his vision, growing stronger, more purposeful. He screamed with Millicent, silently and violently, stuck in the vision just as she was held in place by the curse. He watched the life drain out of her eyes, the way consciousness slipped from a mind that was more than willing to let go.

"Faster, bitch" the girl sneered, pressing forth with a shaky hand, and the spell bounced with intensity and Millicent's head tipped back inhumanly, tendons stretched and jaw locked open in an endless scream. The curse dissipated as suddenly as it had been cast and her body slumped into the bed, her eyes rolling to stare blankly, emptily, into the girl's face, and Draco's mind. He felt the darkness close in, felt his mind retreat and he was gasping for air against the cold floor of the Library and Hermione Granger was hunched over him, calling his name.

Her voice raised in intensity when he pushed up to his arms in a sudden burst of movement, but she shut up immediately under his frenzied stare.

"Infirmary," he choked out, eyes glazing over with tears and she was clutching at his hand and dragging him out of the library, past a livid Madam Pince and the students outside.

Draco could barely feel his limbs and wondered absently if he'd left them behind in the vision. He knew it wasn’t logical or practical but his mind felt sluggish. He tried to tell himself that Millicent felt worse.

Granger had them at the Infirmary doors just as Madam Pomfrey walked towards them, Professor McGonagall behind her. They looked alarmed at the sight of the two students, but jumped aside when they barreled past. Granger threw a quick apology over her shoulder but didn't stop until she reached the room with the rows of beds. There she ground to a halt and whipped her head up to look at Draco, eyes wide and worried.

"What is it? Malfoy? What is it? What's here?" she asked in haste, glancing around wildly.

"What in the name of _Merlin_ ," McGonagall demanded as she strode up behind them, while Madam Pomfrey tried to placate them, assuming the subject of their concerns.

"She's fine Mister Malfoy- took a brutal beating, but Slytherin gals are tough ones."

"Millicent," he mumbled quietly to Hermione before slumping to his knees and crying; great wracking sobs that were followed by nausea, and soon he was vomiting all over the Infirmary floor to everyone's utter confusion.

When Madam Pomfrey finally drew back the curtain around the designated bed, she screeched in horror at the mess of Millicent's fractured body, and yelling had ensued; effective measures were taken, floo calls were made, Aurors rushed in, and all through the havoc Granger rubbed his hand in silence and watched him retch his guts out until he could only dry heave with his forehead presses against the cool stone.

* * *

 

They asked him how he'd known and McGonagall answered for him, repeating the rusty version of what they'd told her yesterday- the link that she had dismissed as a charm gone awry. When the Auror frowned at that information, she hastily explained that Poppy had been told to check up on Draco and he'd just not turned up this morning. With Granger's account for his visions, as well as their conversation in the library, the Auror sighed, crossed their names off his tiny notebook and declared their alibis 'solid'. He stood up to speak with McGonagall and muttered a few words to Granger, before leaving the Infirmary's visiting room.

Draco had watched him leave with indifference and winced a little when Granger noticed. She sidled up to him along the visitor's bench with a frown and touched his arm gently.

"Malfoy," she whispered. "I'm really sorry it happened... but you have to come back. Can you hear me? Malfoy? _Please_."

He didn't want to answer, but the shock was slowly wearing off and his body felt like it had been run over. He needed water, food and a quick Obliviation. He felt his head tip forward in an attempt to nod.

"Good," the witch replied with a tired sigh of relief. "I know it's hard, but you have to try. There's no good in you doing this to yourself. It won't help Millicent, and it won't help you."

She got to her feet, and he noticed that she looked exhausted, eyes rimmed with red and nose splotchy. She'd probably cried too. Anybody would've at the sight of her body, mangled beyond belief and twisted like a marionette doll.

Granger tugged on his arm. "We need to get some food in you, something warm. Come on. Then sleep."

"Don't think I can," he muttered as he lumbered to his feet, heavily shuffling them after her.

She shook her head, no, and kept walking. They passed Padma outside whose olive skin was near grey with shock. She widened her eyes at them in question and Granger nodded back. Her face crumpled then and a small brown hand flew to mask her grimace of horror. The Prefect nodded at them both absently and turned away.

Draco knew neither of them had known Millicent very well at all, but the death of a fellow school mate was a hard thing to stomach. He remembered when Cedric Diggory had died. He'd barely known the Hufflepuff, but the reality of the situation- the frailty of life and the harshness of death- had been a sucker punch to the gut. On the other hand, witnessing Millicent's death had been something else altogether and he knew that no matter how much Granger insisted he come back to reality, it would be much harder a task than expected. It would take much more than a hug or two and way more retching and maybe some whiskey.

He wondered how Potter had done it, stayed functional even though people around him were dropping like flies. Maybe that's why he was tired, seemed done with it all. Death was _exhausting_ to the living.

When Granger left the dorm in search of something or the other after loading him with warm soup and a large duvet, he dragged the trunk full of firewhiskey out from under his bed and was half pissed when she returned, carrying plates of dinner.

"Malfoy what are you _doing_?" she demanded in her shrew-Granger tone and he place his hands over his ears to tune her out.

"Quiet, Granger," he slurred, letting his head bob. "It's quiet time, the people are asleep."

"We haven't even had dinner," she snapped, reaching over to grab the bottle from the low set table that sat before the fireplace. "This is almost over- how much have you had? Ah, dammit, we have a meeting with Auror Walker tomorrow."

"Shhhh... Her’ny, we can't eat with dead people," he muttered, shaking his head slowly. "That's not right... can't eat dead people. Nope... not it."

Granger looked at him sharply, alarmed. Her hand spasmed around the bottle neck and she stared at him.

"What did you say?" she asked in a rush.

"Can't eat when people are dead," he finally exclaimed. "That's it, Draco well done."

"No, you said my name," Granger whimpered, panicked. “Malfoy, you never say my name."

"What? Oh... Hernini," he said, frowning when he failed to pronounce the name. "Herminy. Her. 'S too hard, why would anyone say it?"

She slumped into the sofa beside him and snuggled low into the cushions, bottle cradled in her arms.

"You like this is the most unsettling thing I've ever seen."

Draco snorted as he sipped at his glass and tasted the burn of the whiskey in his nose. " _Dead people_ , Herminy," he reminded her.

She grimaced at her oversight and pressed her fingertips to her forehead. "That was insensitive," she noted grimly. "I'm sorry. And it's Granger; we were fine with that remember? First day? Civil? Remember Malfoy?"

Draco burrowed into his brain in an attempt to fish for the memory. "No," he muttered finally. "Can't remember. But you yelled a lot at me. Like a harpy. But a pretty harpy. Not a bird. You're a person. Not a dead person. A living one. But pretty. But like a harpy."

The shock on her face told him his reasoning hadn't been taken well so he tried to amend it. "Not a chicken harpy, a nice bird. Yeah, Hermy? A nice one."

He tried to pat her leg in comfort, hoping that would help her accept the fact that she was now a harpy, but she only scooted away from him sharply.

She glared at his hand as it paused midair and frowned up at him. "Did you just... did you just compliment me?"

Draco mirrored her frown and moved his hand for his glass. "No I called you a harpy. It's true though."

Granger looked like she was ready to scream. Instead, she took a calming breath and settled a concerned glare on him.

"I'm sorry Malfoy, I'm truly sorry for your loss. But you need to stop this, it isn't good."

She reached for his arm and he placed his glass in her outstretched hand.

"One day, I heard Milli telling Pans that she had a secret fantasy about tying Scarhead to a bed and riding him till dawn and I could never look at him without throwing up a little for the rest of that year."

Granger looked slightly alarmed at his sudden declaration, and then her eyes softened and she tightened her grip on the glass in her hand and downed it in one go.

Draco grinned encouragingly as she refilled her glass and held it out to clink the sides against the one he _accio_ 'd for himself from the kitchen.

"To stupid decisions," she murmured, throat a little hoarse from the burn of the alcohol.

Draco watched the way the fiery amber liquid sloshed inside the cut glass as they toasted, and laughed softly.

"Living is stupid, Herminy... but here we are."

* * *

 

"You were a _cat_?!"

"For a while!"

_Hermy's_ protests fell on deaf ears as Draco doubled over and hacked out deep growling laughs that made him shake in place, eyes squeezed shut.

"You... brewed Polyjuice... so young... so smart for that- but became... a cat?"

He felt his sides constrict and laughed harder at the imagery of his body splitting open at the seams.

Granger didn't find it funny and burrowed deeper into the oversized sweater she'd donned, swatting his back with the sleeve ends that had swallowed her hands. He wasn't sure she'd get her fingers back but her arms might be salvageable, the more he thought about it Sweaters were hungry things, he'd warned her, but witches never listened.

"I just collected her cat's hair instead of hers," the witch hiccupped, pressing the rim of her glass to her upper lip.

Draco sneezed. "Well that's stupid."

Granger nodded sadly and licked the side of her glass. "It felt horrible."

"I bet. Her cat was a _demon_. From _Tartarus_. Ate Crabbe's mouse."

Granger waved it off. "Cats are hunters- that's normal."

"Oh drink some more," he pouted. "You're doing the thing, Her'ny."

She stuck her tongue out but drank anyway, draining the glass and setting it down with a sigh. She was surprisingly holding on to her liquor, and where Draco felt the beginnings of an upset stomach, she was just hitting her stride.

"Don't care much for whiskey," she muttered. "Burns on the way down."

Draco shrugged and reached for the bowl of chips she'd insisted on having on standby sometime around their second bottle. He quested for a chip, chewed on it thoughtfully and swallowed.

"I think this is better for Milli."

Granger glanced up at him slowly and cocked her head.

"You don't know that."

He disagreed internally but couldn't shake his head. His orientation would be thrown off and he wasn't prepared to puke again.

"Living with curses... it's not great."

She looked as if she was waiting for him to elaborate but he found he couldn't so he looked back at her face in silence.

He wanted to tell her that he still struggled to sleep without the help of potions, that he twitched involuntarily sometimes and that he had never received a proper medical check-up since the end of the war. He wanted to tell her that not only could he never forget the way she'd screamed on his floor in agony, but that he also knew exactly how she'd felt. Exactly how she hurt. Bella aimed for the chest, he knew that. She aimed for the chest because it hurt most, and your nerves went numb after the first five seconds because her spells were that strong. He knew. He wanted to tell her. But all that swam in his mind were fragments of sentences and that old apology about having dungeons and he reverently hoped he didn't accidentally say the latter.

Granger seemed to have moved on in her own thought process, one he'd never know for she shook herself suddenly and turned to face him.

"I miss my cat," she proclaimed, eyes drooping sleepily.

Draco nodded. She had had an ugly cat. He didn't think he should tell her that. Like the harpy thing, it was better left unsaid.

"We'll get one."

Granger hummed appreciatively and bit her lip. Draco glanced away, willing himself to ignore it. She wouldn't eat it, she wouldn't, and it won't bleed, its fine.

"We should thank Luna," she decided. "For the dream catcher. It really helped you."

Draco wasn't sure, but decided he would if he could remember to do so tomorrow.

"I could've never seen Milli like that," he mumbled in realization, stomach lurching. “If I’d let it block the vision.”

Granger shifted beside him, head lolling against the backrest of the sofa as snuggled into herself.

"Isn't that good?" she asked bluntly, forcing her words around a yawn.

Draco didn't think so. He wondered whether he'd rather have missed the murder or not, but nothing came to him in response and his stomach lurched again so he stared into the fire as Granger fell asleep beside him, willing himself to sleep before the vomiting began. Without his Dreamless Sleep he'd have nightmares, but he didn’t think anything would top what he'd seen today in broad daylight.

* * *

 

He woke up with a thick tongue and fuzzy mouth, a throbbing in his chest and a warm weight against his side. Granger was slumped against him, head buried inside the collar of her sweater; an ugly blue thing with an embroidered H in the middle. She snored lightly when he moved to go in search of needful items, his head spinning uncontrollably until he'd downed two wretchedly sour hangover cures and three of the pills Granger left lying around that she took for headaches. He assumed they'd help, if not kill him, and both options seemed favourable to him at the moment. Their dinner lay in the plates she'd brought up, untouched, and he _Vanished_ them with a wince before reaching into the cupboards for cereal. He wasn't up for a walk to the kitchens or the Great Hall and settled for milk and bran flakes. The only kind they had. He swallowed some water, waited for his roiling stomach to settle, thought about yesterday and ran for the bathroom.

He spent a few minutes bent over the toilet bowl, hands gripping the porcelain so hard that his knuckles and the toilet matched in whiteness, and then staggered out without showering- feeling all too weak on his own two feet. He hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday breakfast that he hadn't thrown up already, and made a mental note to eat something before he died.

Flashes of his latest vision splinched his thoughts into fragments, and he gave up on making rational thought and pulled his shirt off, the cloth sticky with sweat from yesterday's events. He ran a hand under the tap in the kitchen, washed his face and cleaned his trousers with a simple charm. He stowed his wand in his pocket, cleared away the glasses and was hiding the trunk of firewhiskey under the bed when he heard someone yelling on the other side of the painting.

He opened it to face a weathered looking Auror, the one from yesterday, whose salt and pepper moustache twitched in annoyance before he nodded at him in greeting.

"Mr. Malfoy, we've been waiting for you and Miss Granger in your Headmistress's office for over an hour for your questioning."

"You... you did that _yesterday_ ," Draco pointed out, slightly annoyed, head aching dully.

"Yes well, we have more questions. And it would be greatly appreciated if you answered the floo, Ms McGonagall was yelling through there for so long... and do unSilence your painting, how is anyone to request entry?"

Draco scowled, crossing his arms across his chest. "The people who have to enter know the password."

The Auror sighed and leveled him with a glare. "Meet us in the office in five, and do get dressed."

Draco shut the portrait with a smirk that dissipated as soon as the picture swung closed and raced across the room in a hurry.

"Granger," he snapped, grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking. "Granger, wake up! We have to go for a meeting! Granger!"

The witch stirred with a loud snore and swatted his hands away.

"G'way, 'alfoy," she slurred in her sleep, rolling onto her other side. "Need sleep."

Draco sighed irritably, flicked his wand and doused her with a quick Augmenti. She jolted upright with a swear that made him chuckle before launching at him, fists flying.

"Utter prat!" she yelled, hair partly soaked so that some strands were damp while others retained their dry frizz.

He held his ground as she crashed into his frame and let her whack at his arm for a few seconds before grasping her by the elbows and turning her around to face the bathroom.

"Go get changed, you smell," he directed sharply. "And have that potion on the table and the tiny pellets. The white things- _you know_!"

She nodded swiftly, a little bewildered and marched for the bathroom before veering towards the kitchen, drinking down the medicines and heading back for a shower. He watched her fumble around and sighed heavily before heading for his room to get ready himself.

* * *

 

"Mr. Malfoy we have reason to believe someone on school grounds is targeting specific people with malicious intent," the Auror stated, his droning voice lost in the large decorated office.

“You don’t say,” Draco muttered lowly.

The Auror continued as if he hadn’t heard. "This girl you claim to have a link to... she's our primary target, yet you haven't provided us with many details except that she is a student. We will screen the students and try to narrow it down, yet the issue of your link remains. We cannot know for sure if we can trust it to be accurate."

Draco sat back in his chair, stunned. He was alone with the Auror, whose quill was noting down every word that was being said. He didn't want to swear on record but felt the need to do so.

"You're joking?" he said instead. "I saw my friend die... in vivid detail... and you're saying you cannot trust _that_?"

"Forgive me, Mister Malfoy," the Auror sneered lightly, dark eyes slanting under the shadow of his bushy grey brows. "But you aren't among the most trustworthy of men."

Draco jerked back as if he'd been slapped scowled. "So what? You're going to ignore my visions? Pretend I'm not linked to some... some _murderer_?"

The Auror frowned, before turning his glare to face the frantic quill, which stopped writing at the snap of his fingers and thumped lightly to the parchment.

"I believe you're linked to murderers in more ways than that, young Malfoy," he said then, face twisted in an unnamable emotion.

He was one of them then. The ones that fought in the war and lost as much as they had, but were older and found it harder to let go. The ones who bore their losses close to their heart and let it simmer. The ones who blamed survivors and traitors and the weak people who'd fled.

Draco resisted the urge to spit in his face at the mention of his bloodline.

He wasn't his father. He was not his father.

"That's it? This was a little sorry-we-don't-care to put in the books and then send me off?" Draco demanded, leaning forward agitatedly. "You can't do this! I'm seeing things a murderer is seeing! Isn't that helpful to you?"

He knew his tactic wouldn't work, yet the sardonic laugh it elicited out of the old veteran still stung.

"Nobody cares, Malfoy- you were a burden in the war, a burden in court paperwork and a burden to this school. There is no one who cares if you have to watch a few deaths for a year or two. Teach you some things you might've learned in Azkaban."

“What about Myrtle? The ghost? This girl might’ve been involved in that also!”

“Yeah well, you leave the detective work to the actual investigators and go do your homework, alright?”

Draco simmered silently, fists clenched around the armrests of the chair he sat in. His temper flared around the hunger in his stomach and he fought to keep the volatile thoughts in his head. He wasn't bad with a wand but the Auror was clearly more experienced and if a fight broke out he'd be the one in the ground.

So he grit his teeth and shut up.

"That's it, Malfoy," the Auror smirked, sensing his petty victory. "Be a good little puppet. And next time you have a vision, tell the adults- they'll handle it."

He turned back to his notes and busied himself with the quill and paper, in what he probably thought was a subtle dismissal. Draco seethed behind his mask of indifference as he rose to his feet and stepped out of McGonagall's office, rushing through the stairwell with the gargoyle and bursting into the hallway outside with a shout of anger. He let his speed propel him across the corridor and smashed his fist into the opposing wall when he reached it, knuckles crunching against the smooth stone.

He grunted at the impact and shook his hand out, feeling his skin split and warm up. Blood trickled between his fingers as he spun around slowly, expecting Granger’s berating voice only to be faced with an empty corridor. He breathed around the dismay and hurt in his chest and tried to reassemble his cool façade. He felt as humiliated and worthless as the Dark Lord had made him feel after his father’s failed mission, and the memory burned harshly in his mind, awakened by the bitter Auror. He felt for the dream catcher and swore when he didn’t find it on his person. Sticking his hands in his pockets resolutely, he hunched his shoulders around himself and stalked out of the corridor, looking for a certain Gryffindor to beat into the dirt with his bare, bloody fists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So? How was it? Tell me in the comments<3  
> Every small comment inspires me to write faaster! Drunk Mione and Draco were a small relief from the pain, but necessary imo because Draco would NOT have had a heart to heart with Hermione, and she wouldn't have stopped unless she'd got him to open up. Solution? Alcohol and funnies to drown out the sorrow.   
> Also Auror Walker was modeled after what I feel is a more realistic take on the Aurors. Harry and his administration might be less corrupt within the system, but this guy misuses his power, as is typical of strongly prejudiced people, no matter what job.   
> Anyway, see you guys with 7 <3


	7. Restitution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the massive delay you guys!  
> I'm a mystery noob and struggled with this waay more than I should have

The crunch of bone under his unrelenting fist was morbidly satisfying in the way hand to hand combat could only be. His wand thrummed latently in his pocket as he pulled his arm back, shoulder blade rotating under tense muscle, and shot back forward- knuckles colliding with less crunch and more squish.

Dean's face was swelling more than it was breaking, most probably due to the fact that it had broken as far as it could break, and the blood seeping through his shirt and dripping to the floor he was slumped against begged Draco to stop.

He felt his stomach wince under the agony his brain felt, the screaming white noise in his head blocking out all rationality.The boy under him was gurgling incomprehensibly, spitting blood instead of words, and he couldn't understand and didn't want to find out what he was saying. A voice yelled at him to _stop_ and _let go_ , but it didn't reach through the veil of anger that shrouded him. He flexed his fingers, the thin skin over his knuckles flayed and raw, stained with blood that wasn't mostly his. It dripped warmly between his fingers; the red a stark contrast to the pale- and then a darker, smaller hand was roughly pulling him away and pressing him up against the opposite wall at wandpoint.

He quietly watched the other person who'd interrupted crouch over Dean, wand waving with a friendly spell. The hand at his chest and on the wand that was pointed to his throat wavered slightly before pulling away completely. Parvati stared up at him, dark eyes piercing past his shroud of violent rage, disappointed. The other person, Neville Longbottom, straightened with a sigh. He spoke to Parvati, the two of them unsure of helping both Draco himself and Dean, surprisingly.

“He deserves it if at all,” Neville said, before casting another healing spell upon the boy behind him. “But I better get him to Pomfrey.”

“Tell her he fell down the stairs,” Parvati suggested. “If she asks.”

Neville looked bemused but agreed before levitating Dean's limp form down the corridor with a final disapproving glare at Draco's still form. Draco watched him leave, taking measured breaths as he flexed his fingers again, feeling the sting of the abused tissue as it moved against bone and bled.

“ _He_ didn't kill her, Malfoy,” Parvati stated bluntly, withering slightly when he growled in return.

“He might as well have signed her death warrant, Patil, now if you're not going to drag me to McGonagall...,” he trailed off with an arched brow, unprepared to let the anger slip, too shaken to accept the reality of the situation.

He'd beaten Dean Thomas to a bloody pulp with his own bare hands and if this was reported he'd lose the little freedom he'd earned without trying. So he pulled upon the anger; kept it simmering just within reach.

“Watch it, Malfoy,” she snapped stiffly, arms crossed in a rendition of Granger. “Aren’t you on parole or something?”

He sneered at her in return, quashing the fear that trickled down his spine. She could so very easily take from him everything that he had left. The pity in her eyes told him she wouldn’t however, and despite the initial disgust at being pitied, Draco had to admit her actions would be valued. Respected even.

So he stood in silence until she left, her retreating footsteps shallowly echoing around the corridor. He listened stiffly, well until the only sounds were his on breathing and the quiet whistle of a stray draft, and when his eyes finally focused, he pushed himself off the wall and headed out for nowhere in particular. It wasn’t until he bumped into an unfamiliar statue did he pause to look around. The high stone walls and arching ceiling resembled the rest of the castle, but the portraits were those he generally never came across, and when he caught sight of the large painting propped up against the wall opposite him, he realised why.

The Fat Lady glared at him from over the tiny wine glass she held in her fingers, other hand gently caressing her pearls. Draco scowled at her harshly, before turning on his heel and heading for the stairs. He’d take them to wherever they lead, he supposed. Anything to waste time, avoiding the inevitable. The portrait behind him swung open, and a mumble of cheerful voices caught his attention.

Luna Lovegood sauntered past him with the youngest redhead in tow, smiling widely when she caught sight of him by the stairs. The latter stumbled along, decked in full Quidditch gear.

“Draco,” she called airily, much to her friend’s surprise he was sure.

Ginger didn’t protest when the Ravenclaw dragged her over to where Draco stood, however she did shoot him an unamused glare.

“You smell vaguely of iron,” Luna continued, unswayed by the building apprehension between the others. “That’s good for keeping fae kind away I suppose.”

Ginny Weasley took a quick glance at his clenched fingers before he managed to tuck them into his pockets, and snorted derisively. “Sure, Luna,” she muttered. “Fae kind is what that’s all about.”

“No one asked you, freckles,” Draco scowled, not in a mood to deal with any kind of Weasley, girl or no.

On a whim, he then quickly added in a rushed voice, “Thanks for the dream catcher, Luna.”

She seemed unfazed by his hurried appreciation and simply nodded. “I knew it would help with your stomach.”

Weasley laughed out loud at that and Draco growled.

“Yeah, something like that, Lovegood.”

Trust the crazy bint to not know what she was doing. Honestly, whenever it seemed like she may be a seer or just plain intuitive; it always turned out to be that he had read too much into her crazy. Weasley didn’t seem surprised so he supposed she was used to the Ravenclaw.

“C’mon, Luna, I’ve got practise in a bit- we’re going to be kicking Slytherin’s arse with over 800 points this time around,” the redhead proclaimed snidely, tugging on her friends arm with a wicked smirk.

Draco pointedly ignored her attempts at riling him up and hung back, allowing a small scowl. “Get ready, Little Red,” he said flatly. “Blaise is bringing the big guns.”

“That oaf shouldn’t even be allowed to coach them,” she spat in reply. “It’s unfair.”

He childishly took pleasure in having weaselled a reaction out of her before something in his mind tugged at his attention. “Hey- wait, Weasley!”

The redhead looked alarmed as she turned around and fixed him with a wary stare. “Go on ahead Luna,” she muttered. “I’ll catch you later.”

Draco waited for the Ravenclaw to curtsy and leave before flashing the youngest Weasley with a full body scowl. “You were the one who docked a hundred points off us.”

“It was a seventy,” she corrected wryly. “And Zabini was in the girl’s bathroom and you _know_ he had no right to be there! So don’t come here throwing your Head Boy weight around- Merlin knows you gained some.”

Draco inhaled through gritted teeth and sighed, fingers clenching and unclenching in his pockets. “I’ll ignore your pathetic insults for now, Ginger. He was just doing what any normal person with compassion would’ve done.”

She glared at him shrewdly before replying. “Yes well… it didn’t have to be him.”

“He couldn’t have known you were already there.”

“I- I don’t see why-,”

“It’s the unused bathroom- no one goes there.”

“Still-,”

“Who was in there, Weasley?” he pushed, catching onto her hesitation and driving a stake through it. “You heard her before he did and went to investigate also didn’t you?”

“This is none of your business!”

“Tell me, Weasley- I have to know.”

“What? Just cause you’re Head Boy? Sod off, Malfoy,” she snarled, one hand diving into the pocket of her robes.

He pulled back slightly, not wanting to be at the mercy of her infamous Bat Bogey Hex, and took a deep calming breath that only infuriated him more.

“Dammit woman, why can’t you tell me?”

“I don’t _have_ to answer you, Malfoy,” she laughed derisively, hand returning from her pocket wandless.

Draco let his posture loosen, spine straightening from its anticipatory coil. Those internal reflexes never really left and he could see them mirrored in the girl before him. Eyes narrowed, always ready to grab for a wand, spell at the tip of their tongues.

He eyed her suspicious glare and scowled, before stepping forward suddenly, encroaching on her personal space. He felt her wand press into his sternum almost immediately, but he kept walking forward until he towered over her and leaned in to speak directly into her face, cold eyes grey and hard.

“Listen, Weaslette,” he enunciated carefully “Something is going on in this school and I’m going to figure out what it is, with or without your cooperation- so you can either tell me what you were doing there willingly, or I’m going to have to find out. What’ll it be?”

Her eyes widened at his chilling voice but quickly thinned in a glare, mouth set in a firm line. “You’re still the same bully, despite what everyone else says,” she spat. “Who do you think you are, _investigating_ murders? They’ll get what’s coming for them- you don’t have to butt in.”

He scowled at her and stepped away, arms rigid by his side. No matter how insolent and infuriating they were being, he wouldn’t hit a girl. Or so he kept telling himself at that moment. The redhead glared at him in disgust and shook her head.

“Death Eater scum,” she muttered as she left, and it took all of Draco’s willpower to refrain from attacking her retreating form.

__

* * *

 

When Granger stormed into their dorm in the evening she didn’t look pleased. Her hair frizzed out dramatically like a large sentient form, and her eyes flashed dangerously.

“I got your message, Malfoy,” she said curtly, coming round the chaise to place her satchel of books carefully on the low sitting table. “Would it kill you to be less rude?”

He caught the wadded up parchment as it flew towards his face and chucked it into the fireplace as if he were aiming a Quaffle. He ignored her complaining and reached for her books. “So you have it then?”

As expected the witch snatched her belongings out of his reach and scowled impishly. “No! I _just_ got your note!”

“What is with you, Granger?” Draco grimaced, flashing her a well-practised glare. “So much for trusting a Gryffindor. I suppose I’ll have to do it all myself.”

“What is with _you_?” she asked after a pause, watching him as he glared into the fireplace.

“What is with me? _Me?_ I seem to be the only person interested in stopping this madwoman, that’s what!” he snapped suddenly, throwing his hands into the air.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Granger disagreed with a frown.

“Oh stop being a swot,” he sneered, tracing his fingers over the strips of white cloth over his knuckles. “You weren’t there at my meeting with Walker so you wouldn’t know anything about it. The Aurors are not going to be of any help.”

“I’ll have you know that I had my own interrogation,” Granger replied somewhat impatiently. “And what happened to your fingers?”

“Nothing _you_ need to bother yourself with.”

“Tell me, Malfoy-,”

“Would it _kill_ you to be starved of information for just once?”

“Is it even healed properly? I can-,”

“Oh just go read or whatever.”

The resounding slap on the back of his head startled him, and rung through his skull viciously, jarring him out of his anger. He turned around to stare up at her in mild shock, hand raised halfway to his neck in a delayed reaction to tend to his sore skin. Granger stood to his side with a venomous glare set in his direction, arms on hips, cheeks flushed and eyebrows burrowed in a vehement frown. He could feel the static burning across the space between them, and was taken back to another time, similar to this one.

“Don’t ever speak to me like I’m some disposable _minion_ of yours,” she said steadily, eyes betraying her hurt.

He nodded mutely, fingers resting against the back of his head carefully as he watched her with a wariness he couldn’t comprehend. She huffed at his lack of apology but sat down nonetheless, surprising him. He scurried backward silently to give her room on the seat and watched as she unloaded her books onto the table before them. How he kept fucking things up with her, he wasn’t sure. She wasn’t the cleverest witch of their age for no reason, but sometimes that made it easier to forget that she was just as young as the rest of them, and as out of depth as he was- if only a few months older. She was probably as nauseated and just as frightened as he. But perhaps she was being more useful than he and that’s where their differences lay. She was willing to help others and offer assistance in order to work through her pain and he… well he was just ungrateful and resorted to violence and bullying. It wasn’t a comforting realisation, but it wasn’t really the first time he’d thought about it.

Granger had finished stacking the books on the table and turned to face him with a stony face.

“These are obviously not the student list you _requested_ \- although in truth it was more so a demand than anything else- but they could be helpful if you’d deign to look through them.”

He winced at her acerbic tone and nodded silently.

“I suppose I’ll have to procure that list tomorrow, and I’m still not sure how I’m going to pull that off. If you wouldn’t mind coming up with an idea instead of bossing me around like some overbearing… _overlord_ , maybe this will all get done faster.”

Draco felt his head tilt forward in yet another nod but froze immediately when the witch beside him cut her eyes towards where he sat with stoic disapproval.

“Would you say something instead of nodding like a _mute_ for Godric’s sake?” she snapped, exasperated.

“I’m sorry?” he tried ineffectively, averting his gaze from her fiery eyes.

“Ugh, that’s not enough Malfoy- were you even listening to me?” she sighed, flopping back into the cushions in a careless slouch. “Why am I even helping you?”

“Because you’re a good person and care for the safety of the school in general and are smart enough to understand that the adults won’t be helpful because you’ve had personal experience with what they call ‘handling’ a situation?” he muttered under his breath, partly in an attempt to appease her, partly to himself.

Granger might’ve heard him, but for the tiny smile on her lips she made no indication to it. Instead she exhaled loudly and reached for the book closest to her.

“These are the books Professor McGonagall saw fit for me to have from the Office library. They’re probably older than Dumbledore and maybe belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, but that’s another thing. Two cover ‘old magic’, classified as that used before Merlin and Morgana’s revolutionised it to how magic is used today… aand you obviously know what I’m talking about, sorry. Moving on. Two others cover soul mate magic in a few chapters- a little shifty those two. And this one here is more of a… um thesis of sorts.”

Draco reached out for the book with a questioning look and grunted when she placed its full weight onto his palm. “Hate when books weigh as much as gold does.”

Granger snorted and looked away, seemingly annoyed at herself for caving soon. He smirked lightly, before flipping through the tome in his lap. The yellowed pages were dulled with age, and the protective charms set into the sheets of paper shimmered as he perused them.

“I suppose we won’t have long with these,” he guessed, head bent to frown at the ages.

He heard her make a noise of assent. “She wants them back tomorrow.”

“Salazar, that’s helpful.”

“They _are_ pretty old,” Granger acquiesced genially, shrugging before leaning forward to peer at the book with him.

“Guess we’ll just have to make copies of them.”

“You- _we_ can’t- hmm… smart thinking.”

Draco laughed quietly to himself at her stumble with her conscience, never pausing in flipping through the book. “This looks like a book long essay on Merlin knows what. It doesn’t even have a title! Splendid. How are we ever going to gain anything from this?”

“Well, maybe we don’t have to read the whole thing,” Granger mused aloud, inching her head forward to frown at the book that was upside down for her.

Draco caught on to her meaning immediately. “Theses generally have a bibliography, and if this is not too old maybe it’ll have a comprehensive one.”

“And we can look for useful texts from there!” Granger exclaimed enthusiastically.

He could almost feel the excitement radiating off the witch beside him as he turned over the crusty pages till he reached what they were looking for.  The text was awfully inscribed and was blotchy in most places, but the list of sources used was clear enough for them to peruse.

“Look… these are grimoires,” Granger pointed out, finger tracing a column to the left of the page.

Draco squinted at the names of the texts she’d indicated. “What of it?”

“Well,” she said, sitting back on her heels. “Grimoires date back to the 4th and 5th centuries… meaning they’d contain spells and incantations of the _most_ ancient kind. And it’s possible they’d hold something about linking two people’s minds in some one way connection. A least in a way we haven’t read before.”

“Soul magic,” Draco corrected. “Sounds ridiculous when you put it like that, doesn’t it?”

“Pointless is what it sounds like,” Granger snorted, pulling the book carefully over to her side of the couch. “Why would anyone want a one way connection unless it’s intentional? And this magic is clearly unintentional- you don’t know how it happened and it’s clear she doesn’t even know it exists. Shall I copy this list?”

Draco nodded and reached for his wand. “You do that. I’ll copy the rest.”

He cast a Gemino charm carefully, and watched as copies of each of the books Granger had brought separated from the originals and sat in a neat pile of their own. He flipped through a few to make sure all the pages had been copied effectively, sitting back with a sigh as he opened the third book.

“If you performed the incantation right it’ll work fine,” Granger assured, not looking up from her work.

“And what have you copied? Or cursed?”

The witch sat straighter and let her quill tap her chin as she thought. Draco warily eyed the feather.

“Uhm yeah, I copied the locket to fool Umbridge,” she said finally, cracking a small smile.

“Ah,” Draco said even though he didn’t know what she was talking about.

“I don’t think the Gemino _curse_ is very well known. Or at least its incantation. Gringotts seems to have got it down though,” she said with an amused snort.

“Gringotts?”

“Yes. They used it in the Lestrange vaults to curse the objects there,” she replied with a grimace, returning to writing her list by hand.

“Oh right. And how do you know about dear dead Aunt Bella’s personal vault?” Draco asked, with a good natured glare.

“Um we broke in to her vault last year. To get the cup,” Granger admitted bluntly, with a smug smile and no hint of shame. “Everything multiplied and burned when we touched the treasure there and then we had to ride a half blind dragon bareback to escape. And do close your mouth Malfoy. You’ll catch flies.”

“You- I can’t believe,” Draco stammered. “How in the hell? Only you three would do _anything_ remotely as insane as… _that_.”

“Well,” she smirked deeply, clearly proud of her actions. “I did have to disguise as Bellatrix herself to enter.”

“No,” Draco breathed quietly. “Polyjuice?”

At her impish nod he groaned and shook his head violently. “No, no, no, I don’t need that image, no. Ugh what have you done, Granger, you crazy witch?”

“Saved the Wizarding World and your sorry arse, that’s what,” she stated, smiling widely to reduce the seriousness of her words.

Granger passed over her small scrap of parchment then, and he picked it up to scrutinise it.

“Those are the books that sound like they’d be helpful in some way. Grimoires aren’t only instructions on how to cast spells and such, but most have incantations to create magical objects and invoke magical and supernatural beings, and so on. And these sound like they’d be the most likely to have any information on your situation.”

“We don’t need to know about talismans, Granger,” Draco pointed out, raising a brow at her. “I thought this was a classic case of the soul mate curse.”

She rolled her eyes at his attempt at levity and swatted his arm. “Of course not, silly. It’s just- to be quite honest I never really bought the soul mate tripe.”

Draco stilled and cast an uncertain glance towards the witch huddled upon the sofa. “You’re joking.”

She shook her head with a small smirk. “Come on, Malfoy. Me, of all people, believing in destiny magic and star-crossed lovers? You must be off!”

Draco groaned and fell back into the couch with his head in his hands. “Damn witch! You nearly convinced _me_ with all that rubbish!”

“I know,” she laughed. “It seemed plausible at first, in my defence. I just thought about it more and it made less sense, but by that time you’d sort of accepted it and it was just too funny to give up.”

“Out with it then,” he growled lightly. “What are you thinking?”

Granger smiled, clearly excited once more. “If it isn’t a magic that’s been awakened in you, then it must be something that was cast or triggered. This one doesn’t seem to be cast so far as we know, and for all intents and purposes it doesn’t make sense to have been cast either. Thus I’m rather certain in the idea that it was triggered. Something resulted in this magic being unleashed on you and her, and that’s what we need to be looking for.”

“So all my research today was in vain,” Draco hummed, looking back to his notes that lay across the kitchen counter.

Granger had the grace to look ashamed. “It was too hilarious to stop,” she admitted smugly.

“So you think it may be some sort of talisman, or magical object?” Draco mused, ignoring her confession of playing him along. “It would make more sense than the soul mate nonsense.”

“Let’s not rule that out completely either… some kind of twisted soul bond _could_ have been induced. It’s all speculation at this point. We need some hard evidence,” Granger muttered, fiddling with her quill. “But how?”

Draco ran his fingers across his sore knuckles and flexed his hand experimentally, his mind going back to the events of that morning.

“I spoke to Weasley,” he announced stiffly. “Something weird went on in that bathroom and she knows.”

Granger looked up at that and frowned. “Ginny?”

“I spoke to her about it, but she didn’t tell me anything,” Draco growled. “Stupid redhead.”

“Malfoy,” Granger warned. “Don’t be like that. Why would she tell you anything if you cornered her like that?

“She should have- wait; I didn’t say anything about cornering her.”

The witch rolled her eyes and placed her quill on the table beside the books. “I can’t imagine you doing anything else, honestly. And she told me during lunch.”

“She what?”

“She told me you’d accosted her and demanded she tell you what she was doing in there, and frankly Malfoy she didn’t owe you an answer at all, especially with the way you handled it,” Granger sniffed imperiously, shooting him a half-hearted glare.

“She was being unnecessarily unhelpful, and tried to get me pissed at her!” he objected lamely. “I plead provocation.”

“You’re always masking your emotions and telling me to control mine- what happened to that Malfoy restraint?” 

Draco sighed heavily, unprepared for Granger’s expected disapproval. “That probably died with my mother. And it was mostly because I was just wound up after- never mind.”

Granger swatted his arm sharply. “Don’t talk like that- and don’t even try to pretend like you didn’t beat Dean up! Did you honestly think I wouldn’t hear about it? It was all anyone could talk about in Runes.”

Draco expelled a harsh breath and let his shoulders tense in apprehension. “I don’t need to hear it-,”

“I can’t say much against that, except that you should’ve been more careful. You’re lucky it was Parvati that found you,” she said casually, leaning her torso off the couch to plant her elbows on the low table and balance her face in her palms

“ _What?_ ”

“I mean I was seriously thinking of hexing him to oblivion and back- a good dose of Molly Weasley via Hermione would’ve done him good really. But then I supposed you’d get to him first.”

“I don’t think I follow,” Draco said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

Granger tilted her head to the side to appraise him with half lidded eyes and scrunched her lips and nose into a bemusing, almost quirky expression. “Hmm, I think you do.” 

Draco retained a smirk and gazed into the fire, as it popped and burned and danced. So she’d sent Parvati after him. He knew he should have felt annoyed at her intrusion and assumption of his actions- but he had beat Dean up and he definitely would have been kicked out of Hogwarts for it. He couldn’t feel anything really, except for a strange settling feeling. Like when dust floated gently down to rest on a flat surface, illuminated in a shaft of light. Or when the silt in a riverbed slowly drifted to the bottom after you’d dragged your feet through it, making the water clear again, allowing you to see your toes. Granger was staying, he realised belatedly. Somehow, despite his numerous failures, she wasn’t going to up and leave. She was going to shoulder through this with him and she was probably the only person who would.

He turned slightly to look at her and evaluated his choices silently. The firelight played across her face as she sat there thinking, head in hands and hair in a mess. Maybe this would be the closest they’d ever get to actually acting like friends. Partners, they’d be. People who worked well together when they weren’t at each other’s throats. He liked the thought of that more than he should have. It was too long since he’d had a friend, let alone an equal. He watched the fiery light reflect across the smooth planes of her face and took a deep breath.

“I guess I could do the reading this time,” he offered tentatively, cheering inwardly when she smirked in return.

“Good,” Granger noted, seeing his olive branch for what it was. “I suppose I’ll get that list of students. I don’t think the Aurors will impart any information.”

“How did your interrogation go?” he asked, belatedly realising that he really had forgone all pleasantries and politeness when talking to her earlier.

“Badly,” she grimaced. “He didn’t seem to believe me, but he wrote everything I said down anyway. Didn’t mention anything important or of any consequence. Mostly he seemed snide that I’m your… that I know you.”

“We’re friends Granger, you can say it,” he interrupted sardonically, eyeing her with a sideways glance.

Her approval of his sentiment was apparent in her answering smirk but she covered it quickly with a roll of her eyes and he silently commended her attempt to remain guarded.

“You didn’t tell me what Ginger said either.”

Granger rallied quickly and shot him an unamused glare. “ _Ginny_ told me what happened, and honestly I still can’t believe you cornered her. She, she’s handling the war like the rest of us, but she’s got no one in school. Disadvantages of being the youngest you know?”

Draco didn’t answer.

“Anyway, she said… she said it was her.”

“What was?”

“The girl who was crying,” Granger said simply, looking forlorn.

“I- I didn’t realise,” Draco said quietly, glaring at the fireplace. “She lost her brother didn’t she?”

Granger nodded sadly. “And she’s hurting obviously. I didn’t realise she was feeling so lonely. Maybe I should try get closer to her?”

Draco shrugged. “She has her friends, Granger. I could apologize to her if you want. If you think that would make anything better”

The witch looked surprised and he shook his head at her in amusement. “I’m not a _complete_ arse, Granger. Or rather, I try not to be.”

“No, no that’s not necessary. I don’t think you’re supposed to know,” the witch chuckled softly. “That’s why she told people it was some first year. You must have caught her off guard when you were suspicious. Same goes for Zabini when he interrupted. She would’ve been upset and embarrassed and flipped on him.”

Draco sighed heavily and glared at the pile of books he had to read. “I suppose we’re left with Zabini now. Back to square one.”

Granger nodded ad yawned lightly. “I suppose we are. As long as those visions stay away, we’re okay.”

Draco decided not to point out everything wrong with her statement and just closed his eyes.

“I’m off for patrol,” Granger announced as she moved away from the common area, and he nodded in reply.

He heard her disappear into her room and stomp back out a few minutes later and opened his eyes to watch her grab some water from the kitchen, twisting around to get a better view of where she stood.

“Want me to grade your half of the First Years’ work?” he found himself asking without warning, and braced himself for her reaction with a barely contained wince.

Granger looked alarmed at first, and held his gaze with a hint of wariness, before letting a small smile grace her lips. She ducked her head then and finished her water before heading for the portrait.

“That would be great Draco,” she smiled before pulling it open. “Thanks.”

He sank into the couch as the painting swung shut, cheerily bidding the witch adieu now that it was free from the silencing spell. Draco valiantly tried to ignore his rapid heartbeat and searched for something to distract himself with. Seeing the books, he loaded them into his arms and headed for his own room, all the while thinking that everything was moving way too fast. It was like being on the Knight Bus and he needed to get off this ride before he lost it completely. Stalking into this terrain was unfamiliar and dangerous; befriending Granger had never been in the plan. But now here she was as she always managed to somehow _be_ , and he had to make room and move over. He didn’t think he could do it- have a friend who was also his equal. Even so, as he bit into a Chocolate Frog and started on the first book, he realised that maybe he could try. Yeah, for that tiny warm smile and little more trust, he could _definitely_ try.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked iiit! see you with chapter 8... which hopefully wouldn't take too long eheh   
> thanks for reading and commenting


	8. Inquisition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaack! Thank you guys for sticking with it, and many many hugs for the comments <3 They made my day lel.  
> New chapter, new adventure and more confusion!  
> WARNING- MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH

The next vision hit hard when he wasn't paying attention to his thoughts the most during Care of Magical Creatures. Hagrid's monster of the evening was clambering over his arm much to his dismay, and the next second the twisting reptile was replaced with a terrified face.

The person looked like something out of his worst night terrors; mouth hanging open wide, teeth glistening in a pearly white, in sharp contrast to the gloomy surroundings. The vision barely provided him with a good look around, but he couldn't have tried to pay attention to clues even if he wanted to. The boy before him was scrambling backwards on his backside, pleading and crying, salty tears mixing with dirty perspiration and murky blood. Sharp wails ricocheted off the high walls that arched around them, encasing the scene like a tomb hugged a corpse. The wand in the periphery of his vision jabbed sharply and the boy flew backwards in an unnatural angle, tendons in his neck tightening visibly. His screams faltered under the strain of the unknown curse and Draco blanched inwardly. It was a nightmare that was playing out in reality and he could do nothing to stop it. 

The boy gasped aloud, seemingly free of the curse, and even while Draco screamed at him to stop, he staggered to his feet; determined to flee. To fight. Fucking Gryffindors.

It had to be.

Draco waited for it, for the immediate punishment, and when it didn't spew forth he realised what was going on.

Cat, meet mouse.

She was silent the whole time she watched her victim stumble towards a row of large stone structures that lined the flat pathway they were on, but Draco could tell she was toying with the boy. It reminded him of when the Dark Lord had taken over the manor, watching with perverse glee when his prisoners tried to escape the boundaries and allowing them to try only to later sent Greyback after the when he grew tired of their pitiful attempts. This wasn’t anything like his father, or Bellatrix would’ve done. They tortured with anger and sharp emotion, retaliating with worse punishment the more their victims screamed or fought. The girl who was torturing this boy under some Dark curse was not the girl who’d killed Millicent, somehow. She was enjoying herself now.

Draco wanted to be sick. He watched the boy trip and fall over and do exactly that.

The wand rose again and this time when the light of the curse blazed across the room, his vision whited out and the lizard on his shoulder struck him vehemently in the eyeball with a dart of its tongue. 

He took one terrified glance around the room, met Hagrid's eye with a bewildered, frantic gaze and immediately began shaking the animal off his person. The half-giant scooped up the lizard as it scuttled away from the wizard, and watched Draco bolt out the cabin with equal parts worry and equal parts trepidation.

When Draco reached the castle, panting heavily under the strain of running without paying consideration to breathing, he realised he had no idea where the student was being tortured. 

 _Tortured_. 

He was being _toyed_ with, played with- Draco held back the flashing memories with a groan and rushed down another corridor as he tried to focus. 

 _Focus_. He had to focus or he wouldn’t be able to help the boy.

The lace he was in had been dark and gloomy and _damp_ somehow. Someplace underground possibly? Draco would've thought of the Slytherin dungeon if it wasn't already destroyed, but even that part of the castle didn’t have such a cavernous, empty space. And those stone structures were far too foreign for him to place. He did know quite a lot about this castle and its nooks and crooks and secret hideouts, but there one person who could do better and safely say they knew the castle from its head to its toes. Pinnacles to flagstones. However the saying went.

His legs were pumping under him, propelling him forward even before he’d completed the thought process. He had to keep moving. Keep _moving_. Hurry up and he might be able save him.

He found himself barrelling through a classroom door as he focused intensely on ignoring the horror and grotesque scenes his connection had revealed, and was faced with a small classroom of seven students that hushed immediately upon his hasty entrance.

“Mister Malfoy?” the new Arithmancy professor asked in genuine surprise, small half-moon glasses sliding down his narrow nose. “To what do we owe the plea-?”

“Miss Granger has been summoned by Professor Hagrid,” Draco announced without missing a beat. “If you may grant her leave.”

There was a sudden flurry of movement from somewhere in the class and as soon as Draco caught sight of the bushy head of hair moving towards him he turned back to hold the Professor’s gaze with a near palpable intensity that the man had no choice but to nod awkwardly in hopes he’d look away.

Draco felt Granger usher him out the class with kindly spoken assurances that she would ‘finish her homework and give in that assignment’, and then they were outside and she was looking up at him, eyes burning with questions.

Too slow. They were being too slow, they had to run.

“Draco,” she said quickly and warningly, almost as if she knew his instincts, as if she knew what he wanted to do. “We can’t overturn every stone in the school in a mess. We have to be careful. Do you have any clue on where they might be exactly?”

Draco shook his head impatiently.

“It was a vision, yes?” she asked.

“ _Yes_ , Granger,” he muttered. “A bad one. He’s still alive.”

She looked up in interest. “Really?”

“Looked young but his face was disfigured.”

He hated their clinical tones. The way they spoke about this in a matter of fact manner, paying attention to logic and not emotion. He had a feeling that the Granger that had existed _before_ the war would’ve run headfirst after this boy, crying all the way. But now she stood back, held him back, and thought. They weren’t the same people they once were. He supposed he was foolish for even considering it.

“Where were you? When you saw it? The vision.”

“With Hagrid,” he replied, confused at her sudden question. “Why?”

She launched forward then, dragging him by the sleeve of his robe crying, “That’s brilliant, Malfoy!”

“Nothing about this is brilliant,” he spat in return, aghast.

“Yes, but we cannot possibly do this on our own and none of the faculty would help us,” she replied hastily, leading them through the corridors back the way he’d come. “But _Hagrid_ would!”

Draco didn’t know enough about the half-giant to feel confident in him assisting them, but Granger’s fixation was enough for him to give in to the burning need to _do something_ , and his feet got the memo and they burst into a run at full tilt; dodging startled portraits and then rushing out the castle and past the trees.

“This is a waste of time… it’s not like they’d be _there!”_ Draco shouted without looking over to the witch.

“Of course not,” she replied, voice stolen by the wind that zipped past them and her heavy breaths. “But we _need_ help- and McGonagall would just call the Aurors and sic them on us _and_ the case.”

“And Hagrid won’t do that?”

He looked at her then and she smirked back at him, mass of riotous curls streaming behind her as they _flew_ bodily towards Hagrid’s cabin in the forest clearing.

“We have a history,” she grinned, and then set her face into a grimace and kept running.

When they burst into the cabin, Hagrid was already standing stiffly, three lizards wrapped around various parts of his body. He greeted them with a raised brow and nothing more and Draco slowly felt that maybe Granger and her dunderheads had crossed paths with the half giant several times on their numerous suicidal adventures. He hoped so at least.

“We need help,” Granger panted, as soon as he walked over to them.

“Ain’t it always th’ case, eh?” was all he said out loud, but then he nodded gently; soft beetle black eyes knowing.

“Draco had a vision that someone was being hurt, but he can’t tell where they are,” she went on. “We _have_ to find them, Hagrid!”

The half giant hummed to himself. “Yer always getting in t’ trouble ain’t yer,” he muttered at the witch who blushed deeply.

“Please, Hagrid,” she begged. “He might still be alive.”

“Maybe if yer had some way to pick at ‘is vision?” he mused aloud, stroking his scraggly beard. “Find out more about what ‘e saw.”

Granger’s eyes lit up. “You’re the best, Hagrid!”

The half giant smiled gently. “Need a distraction?”

Draco shook his head in bewilderment. Did all bleeding hearts have some sort of a mind connection to relay their crazy ideas for efficiency?

“What is going on?” he asked impatiently.

“Hagrid, can you go inform Professor McGonagall about this, say Malfoy told you or something? Say the boy’s alive and you have to launch a search, or _something_ \- anything to get her out of her office. You’ll have no better chance of finding than we do at this point,” Granger told the professor, who nodded in understanding.

“That isn’t a plan.”

“Do listen, Malfoy. When they leave we’ll enter her office and use her pensieve! That way we can review your memory of the vision and I’ll see if I can pinpoint its location.”

“Granger- that’s not,” he began instinctually.

“I won’t get you in trouble I promise,” she claimed fervently. “I _promise_ , Draco.”

Hagrid glanced between them warily and stayed quiet while the wizard in question shifted from foot to foot, thinking.

“Fine, but if I get found out and expelled for this- urgh, I don’t know, but you better hope I don’t,” he muttered half- heartedly before grabbing her wrist and tugging her along. “Now can we move? Please?”

Hagrid nodded swiftly and headed in the opposite direction of the door, to what Draco presumed were his personal quarters.

“There’s a floo ‘ere,” he said as he hastily gestured for them not to follow. “Leads straight t’ ‘er office. I’ll go there an’ get ‘er out for yer two. So hurry. I’ll go through in five- should give yer enough time t’ get to ‘er corridor.”

With a nod, he disappeared through the door and Draco followed Granger out and back into the castle. They ran briskly back inside, with bated breaths and pounding pulses.

“We helped Hagrid a lot back in the days,” Granger whispered unnecessarily as they stealthily crossed from corridor to corridor in what had been silence until she’d spoken. “His animals kept getting into trouble- and we just were nice to him you know? I know he’ll pull this off without a hitch, don’t worry Malfoy.”

She kept peering down to look at something in her hands. Draco nodded tersely and peered around the pillar to scope the corridor ahead.

“Its fine it’s all clear,” Granger muttered, stuffing a small yellowing paper into her back pocket when he glanced around to look at her, before taking the lead. “Hagrid’s in her office right now, we have to hurry.”

She cast a strong Disillusionment charm on the two of them and they scurried down the corridor, ducking into an alcove just as the stone stairs to the Headmistress’ office ground loudly as they carried her and Hagrid down and out into the hallway. McGonagall looked fierce as she strode past them with nary a glance in their direction, muttering to Hagrid about protocols and swift action.

They slid behind the professors quietly and scampered into the stairway, just before the stone began grinding to close in on itself.

“I know they said to wait, but this child is _our_ responsibility,” they heard McGonagall say; determination in her voice. “Find Slughorn and Poppy, and maybe even….”

The stone thumped shut and blocked out the voices, and Draco took that as his cue to bolt up the stairs and into the office. He followed Granger as she led him to the centre of the office and indicated that he not touch anything unnecessarily. She then pulled out the same yellowed paper from her back pocket and turned it over in her hands, swivelling around on her own feet as if trying to find her bearings with a compass.

“What is that?” he hissed, impatiently hopping in place. “Granger hurry!”

“It’s a map, it shows everything in Hogwarts,” she snapped quickly, turning to face a small door. “The pensieve should be there, and no one’s in.”

“What, does it show people also?” Draco muttered sardonically, slowly nudging the door open.

“Shut it,” Granger deflected quietly, before stepping in. “There it is. Okay here comes the tricky part, I need to access your memory.”

“You what?” Draco asked, startled, backpedalling a few steps before freezing when the witch glowered at him.

“Malfoy please,” she huffed. “Trust me. I’m not going to _obliviate_ you- it’s perfectly safe. You have to let me or we’ll be too late. Malfoy!”

Draco felt a cold shiver rush down his spine and he thought back to the vision he’d had, not only twenty minutes ago. How he’d pushed it from his mind, he didn’t know. “Ok, do it.”

“I need you to focus on the memory,” she instructed. “And let down your mental walls.”

He watched her grimace bitterly at the mention of his Occlumency skills and decided against smirking at her. Granger smiled grimly when he nodded after a moment of concentration, and stepped forward to press her wand lightly to his temple.

“Don’t panic,” she muttered, before saying, ‘ _Extractum Memoriae’_ in a quiet steady voice.

He felt a small tug at the base of his skull, like as if a hook had been sunk just millimetres before where his spinal cord began, and the string attached to it was tugging insistently at where it had got stuck in his memories. Granger drew back with a sigh and a small stream of wisp like white magic followed the tip of her wand. She headed for the golden basin of what he presumed was the Pensieve, and let the memory settle into its basin like hold. She glanced over at him, and when it was clear that he was going to sit it out, she leaned forward and dipped her face into the bowl.

* * *

 

“Holy shit,” Granger swore, using an unfamiliar cuss as she drew back from the pensieve. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy _shit_.”

“Granger, hurry up,” Draco snapped, taking her by her shoulders as she stumbled backwards in a haze of confusion. “Tell me where he is, we’ve wasted too much time!”

The witch shook lightly under his palms and turned slowly to face him, face deathly pale.

“That room,” she mumbled quietly. “It looks like the Chamber.”

Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in concert with his nerves, and he gulped quietly.

“That can’t be,” he muttered to himself.

“Of course I know that,” the witch retorted, panicked. “Are you saying I saw wrong?”

Draco sighed. “No, Granger. I’m not saying that. Let’s just get out of here and then figure out what to do.”

They crept back out of the office shakily, brows drawn and faces set in a grimace. Outside, the faint sounds of alarm and caution could be heard reverberating across the stone walls. Someone must have let it slip to the students that a search was being conducted and now there was mass panic. Draco felt his stomach twinge with disgust. The boy was as good as dead.

“The Chamber can’t have withstood the war!” Granger exclaimed suddenly, gritting her teeth. “This is ridiculous; maybe she knows you can see her and altered her surroundings?”

“How do _you_ know whether it doesn’t exist?” Draco asked impatiently, scanning his mind for the possibility of it being real. “Hogwarts wasn’t razed to the ground… and even so, the Chamber was well underground and would’ve survived the attack.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Myrtle’s bathroom is the same isn’t it? And isn’t that where it was? Or something?”

Granger faltered. “They must have closed up the entrance.”

“And she could’ve busted through, I don’t know Granger, we have to hurry.”

“They’d have destroyed it, for sure,” she stated; determination clear in her voice.

“ _You’d_ have destroyed it. Dumbledore knew Riddle opened the Chamber and he didn’t have it warded or anything in his entire term- let’s not argue this, dammit. What do we do?”

Draco felt like tearing his hair out. He paced the corridor intently, cursing and muttering under his breath. Granger stood in one place, glaring at a far off spot on the wall to her left disdainfully.

“Fuck this shit,” he swore loudly, exasperated and defeated. “We need to tell McGonagall.”

Granger looked up in alarm. “Are you sure? You could get in trouble.”

Draco snorted weakly, running a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t need to know we used her pevensie, or whatever it was. We’ll just tell her I recognised the Chamber myself. Tell me a few telling features on the way, now hurry.”

Granger nodded, an odd smile playing across her lips, but before he could ask her what he’d said that had been funny, she conjured her patronus and sent it on ahead of them with a message for McGonagall to meet them by the courtyard.

Draco watched as the otter spiralled like a wraith down the corridor, and when he finally snapped to attention, she’d caught up to where he’d been standing and was striding on ahead. He loped after her, uneasily quelling the bad feeling coiling in his guts, and listened as she spoke, her head bent to consider her strange map.

“The snake heads lining the chamber they were in was a dead giveaway,” she explained, cringing at her choice of words belatedly. “The greenish lighting was also so familiar- ugh. Although… well, nevermind. That’s enough for you to recognise it.”

Draco watched her carefully as they took the stairs two by two, leaping down whenever they could what with the constant movement of the entire flight.  Her pause was anything but subtle, but he decided against pushing it. Instead he queried after another detail he’d gathered from her explanation.

“You’ve been there yourself. I knew Potter went in, not you.”

“Harry told me.”

Draco snorted. “Right. Potter told you about the lighting. And the architecture. And you recognised it on sight despite having never seen it before.”

Granger hesitated, but gave in after a few beats. “It was last year, during the Battle of Hogwarts. I destroyed the cup we’d stolen from Bellatrix’s vault there.”

Yet again Draco had no clue what she was talking about, what the recurring ‘cup’ meant, or why she had to destroy it in the Chamber of all places, but the tale seemed too tiresome to fabricate. It was also awfully impressive and equally retarded, so he supposed it was true considering who he was speaking to.

“You did that all on your own?” he asked, vaguely impressed.

Granger missed a step suddenly, and righted herself by grabbing for his forearm with a vicious grip.

“No,” she answered after a beat. “With Ron.”

That seemed a strong conversation ender if he’d ever heard one, so he glanced back down at his feet and concentrated on tamping down on the awful feeling that had taken over his body. Something was very, _very_ wrong. He didn’t want to know what was. They kept moving.

“It’s a _pensieve_ ,” Granger said suddenly as they hit the ground floor finally, running in the direction of the courtyard.

Draco scowled. Of course. Everything was a lesson with Granger and any time was lesson time.

“And what did I say?”

“Pevensie,” she replied tartly. “Those are the children in Narnia’s family name. Quite interesting though, have you ever noticed that each of their royal colours resemble Hogwarts’ own-,”

“Not the time, Granger,” Draco muttered. “How do we know she’s there?”

Granger pursed her lips sourly and flapped her map in his face. He snatched it out of her fingers then and when she made no move to grab it back apart from a disgruntled huff, he perused it quickly. Several sets of footprints scattered the yellowed paper and moved across the fairly accurate depiction of the castle from an overview angle. He nodded slowly, seeing different names appear beside sets of footprints. This was quite useful.

“It’s the Marauder’s map,” Granger explained. “And there’s McGonagall.”

They looked up from the paper to see her striding towards them, eyes cutting and cold. Draco stepped quietly behind the witch beside him as the Headmistress approached. Two more figures flanked her on either side, wands drawn and sharply cut robes glinting a royal blue in the dim light.

“I don’t know what you two were thinking sending that message,” the Headmistress muttered scathingly as she neared them, eyeing them both venomously. “But a distraction was the last thing I needed at the moment. Also, imagine my surprise when I announce for a safety drill to be implemented immediately and neither of my Head Prefects are present to assist?”

Draco stared back at her in quiet confusion. This wasn’t going to plan.

“The students have been confined to their towers and the Prefects are on patrol. These Aurors will escort you to your patrol areas. Do kindly follow them, and do _not_ move from those areas or there _will_ be consequences.”

“But Professor!” Granger protested, ignoring the harsh glare from McGonagall and the Aurors’ warnings to stay back. “We know where he might be! He’s in the Chamber-,”

“Miss Granger I _demand_ that you be quiet and head for your patrol area with no more dissent. I know Albus allowed you and Potter to run around playing hero, and while I trusted him, I never did agree with his leniency and games.”

The Headmistress’ glare could’ve cut through the very stone ground they were standing on, and the Aurors took her pause as a cue, and marched towards them to stand by their sides imposingly.

“I expect no more trouble from you two henceforth. This is not like last year and you have explicit responsibilities that you must uphold. Next time, let the adults handle it without trying your hand at vigilantism. Dismissed.”

She swept away swiftly, her cloak trailing behind her like a voluminous cape that belonged on a vampire. What with her tightly wound greying up-do from the Victorian ages and her thin neck and lizard skin however, she did quite look the part of a century old bloodsucker. Draco watched her go with a sickening feeling in his gut. He shook his head when Granger tried to call after her and watched as the Aurors inched closer, almost as if in preparation to physically restrain them. Draco supposed they had the jurisdiction to do so. He didn't want that under any circumstance. Two months in Azkaban for “correction” was long enough time being led around by forceful shoves and pushes, and although he was sure these Aurors were bound by better conduction laws than the guards in prison, he wasn't comfortable with having them march him anyway. 

“Let's go, Granger,” he told her intently, conveying his concerns through his gaze. “Before they _make_ us.”

She looked ready to argue, but one look at the Aurors and their compelling glares made her change her mind. 

“I'll have the Ministry notified about this,” Granger sniffed uselessly as they headed back into the heart of the castle, probably peeved that she'd been denied of her manic need to assist. “This isn't right, we have _information_.”

The Aurors exchanged dubious glances at this before shrugging. 

“We'll make sure to take your statements after the search is concluded, Miss,” one suggested, and Draco hissed at the witch in warning.

“Stop before they decide to make us _suspects_ as well,” he muttered under his breath, cutting his gaze sideways to bore into her head. 

Granger acknowledged him with a small nod and settled for glaring at the back of the Aurors heads as they lead them to their respective patrol areas. Draco watched as they split ways, and wondered where Granger was stationed as his Auror headed towards what he was sure was the Library. He tried not to think about the boy again; he was dead no doubt, the feeling in his stomach was clear. Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably and stepped in line with the Auror so that he walked right behind him, for no real reason other than to have something else to think about. He paid strict attention to walking exactly where the Auror stepped and studiously ignored the other man's curious glances. The activity reminded him of how his mother had taught him to make fun of following her around at her many galas and soirees. He'd count his steps and hers and if he was able to keep track of it all he'd win a prize for it. Of course that had been years ago, when the mansion had been a home and not a house, and when it had been desirable to live in and an almost coveted location for people to visit. It was also when his mother had been vibrant and young and full of energy and life. Before Lucius had brought their family to the ground and buried them ten feet under. 

 They stopped by the Library and Madam Pince popped her head out of the door to frown at them. 

“Ah, Mister Malfoy,” she noted wryly. “Better late than never. You've been assigned to monitor the hallway, I presume. And what are _you_ still doing standing there? Don't you have a serial killer to catch?”

The Auror glanced at the old lady with a stricken look upon his face before mumbling an apology and leaving. Draco watched him go, before nodding at the librarian and taking a position by the large doors. 

“What am I on the lookout for?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Madam Pince watched him carefully before deigning to answer. 

“No one ever tells me anything,” she muttered, crossly examining a loose thread on her robe. “Good luck, I suppose. Don’t die. And whatever you do don't bleed out on my door.”

Draco stood in pensive silence after she took her leave and leaned back against the wall as he thought. The Chamber had been opened. Somehow, she'd managed to get into the Chamber of Secrets. That meant several things. One was that she was probably a Slytherin. Draco wasn't sure how it had been opened in their Second Year but when it had been there'd been rumours of some heir of Slytherin house. He hadn't thought there'd been any remaining descendants of Salazar himself, but if anybody could shed more light on this it was Granger. He needed to get to her somehow. He wondered when this would end. They could discuss in their common room, but the search could go on forever and he couldn't survive the wait all by himself in this corridor with only Madam Pince for company. 

He had waited impatiently for a whole ten minutes when something glowed at the far end of the corridor. He had his wand out and at the ready and was prepared to Avada the oncoming presence without second thought, when he recognised what it was. 

The otter glided towards him gracefully before completing a small loop in the air and floating to his feet. 

“Malfoy I think we were too late, I'm sorry. I hope you're alright. Just hold on ok, this will be over soon. All the Aurors are here they should find her easily. I'm stationed by Gryffindor tower. Where are you?”

Draco watched silently as the otter finished reporting Granger's message and tried to ignore how unnerved he felt at hearing her voice from the ghostly animal. He replayed her words over in his head and scowled when he realised she expected a reply.

“How am I supposed to do that?” he asked in irritation, glaring at the otter accusatorily. 

The animal squeaked and disappeared into thin air, leaving him to scowl at the spot on the floor where it had just been. 

Draco sighed and slumped against the wall, allowing his weight to drag him to the ground in a heap. He propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head low till his chin grazed the knot of his Slytherin tie. Stupid Granger and her stupid abilities. He wondered how his younger self had ever thought she was inferior to him in anyway. He also wondered why she got so bitter over Occlumency. He'd heard from the grape vine that Potter was an Occlumens too. Maybe she was jealous. He wasn’t sure if that made her a compulsive learner, or just obsessive. 

He wasn't sure he should even care. He gave up on his darkening scowl and tilted his head against the wall to gaze down the corridor. The familiar blue glow illuminated the hallway once more and he groaned, anticipating Granger's second message to be overly apologetic or consoling. 

She wasn't stupid, she probably knew her mistake. He was prepared to ignore the otter, until the glow neared where he sat and he realised it wasn't Granger's patronus at all but a large walrus that seemed vaguely familiar somehow. 

“The search is over prefects, you may return to your quarters,” Slughorn’s voice informed him in careful tones. “I implore that you all remain vigilant; we have not yet confirmed a secure status. Meeting at the Headmistress' office an hour from now.”

Draco frowned at the phrasing. The search was over, but the school wasn't safe it seemed. Which could only mean that they had found the body and not the girl. He cursed inwardly and fisted his hands in his hair. He should've been faster. He will be faster. He and Granger were the only ones who had some kind of an upper hand. 

He shot to his feet and knocked on the Library door, intending to notify the librarian of the message so as not to cause her alarm at his sudden disappearance. Madam Pince nudged the door open and frowned at him. 

“Professor Slughorn gave word that the search has ended,” he relayed stiffly. “It isn't very safe yet, though.”

The old lady squinted up at him and huffed. 

“Hmph, whatever. Nothing happens up here anyway. Go along then, shoo.”

Draco stepped away, wondering why he'd even bothered and headed down the corridor. 

“And you tell that Zabini boy that his book isn't here!” Madam Pince called after him, her words causing him to pause.

“What book?” he asked, turning round to face her. 

“I wouldn't know, he won't tell me. But whatever it is it isn’t any book of mine.”

“Of yours?”

“A book from the library, you oaf. Now tell him to stop pestering me every day!”

“How... how many times has he been in here for it?”

“Ever since you and Miss Granger patched up the library, I suppose.”

Ever since the bookshelves tipped over is what that meant. Or more specifically, ever since _someone_ tipped them over. Draco nodded and agreed before heading for his dorm, lost in thought. It was only when he reached the portrait of the griffin did he realise that he hadn’t paid attention to his surroundings in the least and could’ve been killed ten times over in the time it had taken him to get there. Groaning, he muttered the correct password and dragged himself into the room.

“Draco!”

Ah. Granger was here and she was emotional. She seemed to use his first name whenever she was experiencing more of any emotion than one normally does.

“I’m so sorry about my message,” she apologised, clasping her hands to her chest as she peered over the back of the sofa timidly. “I didn’t think.”

“I’ll learn the charm one day,” he assured her falsely, hoping she’d take the hint and stop.

She seemed unhappy about his dismissal of her apology, but refrained from pushing the topic of his inability to conjure a patronus. Instead she clambered to her knees on the seat to watch him as he headed to the kitchenette to fix himself something to eat.

“Before you go on a rant,” he began, poking at the plate of food on the counter. “I’ve got a place to start from and it’s been bugging me for this whole time. How does one open the chamber?”

Granger perked up considerably at his inclusion of her in his musings so soon since her slip up. The witch berated herself far more than anyone he’d ever known.

“Parseltongue,” she replied finally.

“So… Slytherin,” Draco nodded firmly. “Thought as much. Parseltongue was something Salazar could do, and Riddle was rumoured to be able to do it. Makes sense that he did, otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to open it up that first time.”

“That’s not necessarily true,” Granger objected. “Harry opened the chamber _and_ he knew Parseltongue. Ron opened it too, but that’s a different story”

Draco snapped his fingers. “Drat. Back to square one. But what’s this about the dunder-duo knowing Parseltongue?”

Granger rolled her eyes and indicated for him to join her with his food. “Harry knew Parseltongue, Ron just mimicked him so we could get in to destroy the cup.”

“Again with the cup!” Draco cried exasperatedly.

“It was a horcrux,” Granger explained, snickering quietly at his annoyance. “Voldemort split his soul seven times and hid each fragment in objects of value. They function similarly to talismans- magic bound within an object, but are more of a storage facility than anything else. Helga Hufflepuff’s cup was one of them and we needed to destroy it with the fang of a basilisk.”

“And there was a basilisk in there all conveniently?” Draco asked, suspiciously.

“Yes, Malfoy! Remember the thing petrifying all the students?”

Draco tried to think back to their Second Year and came up short. “I’m not really sure-,”

“Jesus, Malfoy! I got petrified! It was trying to kill all the muggleborns!”

“Calm down, Granger! I can’t remember, it’s been so long and that honestly didn’t concern me except for the heir of Slytherin part cause everyone thought it was me!”

Granger huffed out a breath of air. “Fine.”

“Don’t be mad,” Draco sighed, rolling his eyes before chewing on the food an elf had left for them. “So our killer could be from any house?”

Granger shot a frown at him to indicate she was still unhappy.

“Fine, be that way. How are we going to find out who that boy was- or even where he is?”

When the witch remained silent he blew out a breath of air in frustration and concentrated himself. “Maybe we can use your map? To see if it’s still there? The chamber I mean.”

“It’s not my map, its Harry’s. He gave it to me cause he’s not in Hogwarts anymore and thought I’d have more use of it.”

“Yes well, semantics. The Chamber should be on there!”

“It isn’t,” Granger denied. “It was made by the Marauders- James Potter, Lupin, Sirius Black and that traitor Peter Pettigrew when they were in school, and they never found the chamber so it was never recorded.”

Draco sighed; opting to ignore what she had probably thought was a sufficient answer but instead only invited more questions. “Can I at least look at it?”

Grange shrugged then and said she’d give it to him later. They said in silence as they both thought, mulling over all the events that had led them to this point.

“I think you’re right,” Granger began as soon as Draco started saying, “I have something else.”

“Oh yeah?” the witch asked, mildly surprised. “You first.”

“No, yours sounded far more interesting,” Draco smirked. “Do go on.”

Granger shook her head in bemusement. “I said I think you’re right about the person being from Slytherin- at least if the Chamber really does remain.”

“What about Potter?” Draco asked carefully, squinting at her.

“Well… it’s a long story, but Harry was the last Horcrux. There was the diary, the ring, the cup, the diadem, the lock-,”

“Okay,” Draco interrupted, feeling vaguely ill. “Seven things with seven parts of his soul. I get it. That’s awful, let’s move on. So she could be from Slytherin after all?”

Granger smirked darkly and nodded, shifting around on the couch to stretch her feet out across the table before them. “Yes, it is a Slytherin trait, probably passed on by Salazar. But that’s only if the Chamber we saw was the real chamber.”

Draco paused to mull it over. It made sense that someone would have been able to transfigure a classroom or some such area to make it look like the Chamber of Secrets itself, but the idea seemed a little far-fetched at the moment. He had a few clues as to how it may be, and neither of them would have done that, he was sure. Somehow, the chamber remained in existence and had been accessed. Through Myrtle’s bathroom wasn’t it? He frowned at that. The bathroom remained, which meant that the school hadn’t destroyed the wing or general area of the Chamber. But he supposed that would’ve been futile as the Chamber was far underground that removing whatever was above it would have been a waste. Maybe they had collapsed it from below. He half hoped so

“Malfoy?” Granger was calling. “I said it was your turn.”

“Ah yes,” he recalled what he had been trying to say earlier. “Blaise has been in the library every day since the accident there, looking for a book. Sound suspicious to you?”

Granger frowned with a smile. “Not really, no. I mean, maybe it’s a book we threw out? You know, when we had to edit the collection.”

Draco sighed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah well, _those_ ‘dark’ books really weren’t of any worth Granger, and I’m sure he has them in his personal collection. I’m wondering if maybe he had something to do with the collapse of the shelves in the first place. His ‘book’ could be our talisman. He could’ve lost it in the fall and I could’ve touched it when we were cleaning up.”

Granger shook her head no sooner the words had left his mouth. “No, Malfoy. You had the visions before that. In fact, you had a vision before you even knew there’d been an accident at the library. Remember? I told you about it when you got back from your exam.”

“So the book got triggered at the library while I was away?” Draco frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t,” Granger agreed, tilting her face to frown at the timepiece on her wrist. “But we don’t have time. We have to get to McGonagall’s office for that meeting.”

Draco groaned and staggered to his feet. “Pity this bit of rubbish doesn’t floo,” he snarked, kicking the base of the fireplace lightly.

Granger ignored his whining and headed for the exit. “Let’s go, Malfoy. We need to find out who this boy is. With three victims I’m sure we can extrapolate some kind of agenda, and then stop this woman, once and for all. Before this school becomes a slaughter house.”

She paused at the doorway before adding “Again.”

  


	9. Execution

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for waiting, and for reading and commenting you guys! It really helps move along the story.   
> warning though... this chapter is really long, eheh. I cut a thousand words off and its still long, but i can't edit it any more so here it is<3

McGonagall's office seemed congested even though the small handful of prefects couldn't possibly have filled up the expansive quarters even if they'd doubled in their numbers. Draco stood to the side, watching the sombre faces with which the Headmistress, Slughorn and the rest of the faculty gazed upon the small crowd. He shuffled sideways to wedge himself against the bookshelf surreptitiously, and scanned the crowd for Granger. She stood a few feet away from them all, her back plastered to the wall, and Draco knew immediately that her position was probably the closest to all the exits, favourably illuminated and free of shadows, and most importantly, far enough so McGonagall couldn't see her scowl. He knew she was upset at the headmistress, and the way she'd dismissed them earlier, but that was exactly what his younger self had wished for. For Gryffindors to finally be treated like the rest of them; as being below the rules and subject to scrutiny and punishment. And now several years and war later, his wish was being granted. He felt he couldn't complain. 

McGonagall cleared her throat raspily and the room stood to attention, turning to face her as one confused and apprehensive group.  

“Thank you for gathering on time,” she began with no preamble, eyeing them all warily. “As you all know, a student was reported as missing earlier today, and a search party was launched immediately, knowing the dangers that could have afflicted him.”

Draco wasn't sure if this abridged version of the tale had been masterfully edited to leave him out of it because she didn't want to give him legitimate cause to meddle, or if it was done to save him the suspicion. Either way it annoyed him.

“The Auror department sent five Aurors specialised in tracking and we, the faculty, also searched with them. We found the body two hours ago, outside the unused girl's bathroom.”

Draco felt her words punch past his lungs and attack his throat. The _body_. They had found the body. He was dead. Of course something inside him had known all along, but hearing it confirmed in McGonagall's raspy tones was something else altogether. He quelled the roiling in his stomach with a quick deep breath. Soldier on, soldier on. 

“The body was far too mangled for us to account for him, but since the faculty had so kindly vouched for each student in their classes before we began the search, we were able to tell who the boy was. The body is being examined in Mungo’s as we speak, and we've contacted the parents of the child.”

She stepped back, motioning for Slughorn to continue for her.

Draco wondered absently about the system of elimination the school had used. The teachers had vouched for the students that had been present. That meant someone had vouched for them. He felt his gaze drawn inexplicably to the half giant standing in a shadow to McGonagall's left, who winked subtly at him before turning to pointedly face Professor Slughorn.

“Slytherin house will miss Adrian Rookwood,” Slughorn began. “He was a Second year, barely brushing upon the magic and life that lay before him. As a school we absolutely _cannot_ let this happen again. Headmistress McGonagall and I have proposed that a stricter patrol schedule would be set up in such a way that a faculty member would be paired with a prefect for each round for safer and more effective curfew patrol. More general measures of safety will be announced at breakfast tomorrow. Professor Sprout will hand you all a leaflet now that holds all the emergency exit practices the students must know for their safety. You _must_ memorise these and be prepared to lead a group of students out to safety should the need arise.”

Draco couldn’t help but dart his eyes towards where Granger stood. She looked equal parts impressed and sour. The side of her that was manic about structure and order must have been thrilled beyond belief at Slughorn’s words. The school was taking care of the issue like a school should. But somewhere in her swot-like heart was a rebel and poor Granger was probably wilting away at the thought of having more rules to follow, or rather to _consider_ , and break anyway. 

The potions professor went on to talk about how a request for Auror protection was going to be put through for consideration by the Wizengamot. Draco figured that would take a while to pull through. And whoever this killer was now knew she was taken seriously. Auror protection would do little for them at this point. They were sitting ducks, all lined up in a castle. All they needed was a little fire and then they'd _roast_. 

McGonagall thanked Slughorn for his input, addressed them with more general concern for their safety, advised them to tell their parents if they so wished and bid them adieu. The prefects shuffled out of the room in strained silence, waiting for the gargoyle to shut firmly before bursting into speech. Draco caught Granger’s gaze and hung back behind the crowd to speak to McGonagall without an audience.

The Headmistress noticed them dawdling and sighed tiredly, motioning for them to approach. They hurried closer and quickly relayed their conclusion of the killer having opened the Chamber somehow.

“Mister Malfoy,” McGonagall said after a pause, watching the intently. “Are you sure this was the Chamber that you saw? Exactly?”

Draco shifted slightly on the spot. “Yes, Professor, I double checked with Granger.”

The witch in question nodded hastily. “It seems as if it’s been opened, Professor. It would make sense that the body was left near the bathroom, that’s where the entrance was.”

McGonagall shook her head then, sighing heavily. “It cannot be, children. I appreciate the thought that has been put into this theory, but the Chamber was destroyed before the reconstruction of the school. The Ministry oversaw the safe destruction of Salazar’s secret room. Even the bathroom has been warded since Myrtle’s… second death… and they haven’t been disturbed since. No one has been in there and absolutely no one has opened the chamber. You must have seen wrong.”

The Headmistress smiled wearily at them and with a polite nod she dismissed them, and headed to where the rest of the faculty stood, discussing matters quietly in a corner of the office. Draco headed for the exit, followed closely by Granger, who was muttering to herself in silent dissatisfaction.

Once outside, they were faced by the rest of the prefects, milling about in the corridor with curious faces and impatient scowls.

“Finally,” someone exclaimed when they stepped out. “What happened in there?”

“Does anyone know more about what’s going on?”

“I heard him talking about Aurors… _Aurors_. Ugh!”

Draco saw Granger being blindsided by Patil and quietly edged away from them. The small crowd was eager to understand the situation; not liking being left out of what they thought was the action. He let his mind wander as the others pestered Granger, the more approachable one by far, and allowed himself to think; if Hagrid had vouched for them that meant someone had vouched for the killer. She had either _Confunded_ a faculty member into thinking she was in her class, or... or... she had actually been there… _somehow_. 

“Who's the kid who died?” someone asked, prodding him in the shoulder, and Draco startled, realising everyone was watching him, waiting for an answer. Being the only Slytherin prefect they probably expected him to know who it was.

_Insignificant really_ , was his instinctual reply, but he tamped down on it and instead said; “An innocent Second year, like Slug said. Didn’t get into trouble or anything in his time here.”

The others nodded sadly, and muttered arbitrary condolences. Granger caught his gaze with a piercing stare which Draco studiously ignored; focusing on finding more clues in the time they had outside their dorms. He spotted Longbottom and sauntered over. The Gryffindor caught sight of him and looked immensely perplexed, but quickly shrugged it off before nodding in his direction.

“Longbottom,” Draco acknowledged. 

“Malfoy,” he replied in the same manner, eyeing the taller blond with subtle apprehension. 

He really wasn't anything like the blubbering idiot from their First Year. Longbottom hadn't pulled a Diggory and gone from mildly boring to teenage heartthrob, but he definitely wasn't too far from interesting and that was saying a lot. He had the same air of confusion around him, probably inspired by his lack of confidence and pride. But for that he seemed to make up for with a strange sort of charm and quick intelligence with anything related to living organisms although his specialty was botany. Draco noted the way he no longer slouched around, trying to divert attention from himself. The man had little social skills but he did know he was competent. And Draco commended that. 

“You needed something?” Longbottom asked carefully, voice jolting Draco from his thoughts.

“Yeah sorry, just a question,” he muttered, hands digging into his pockets. “You know Zabini?”

“Yeah,” Longbottom replied, narrowing his eyes. “Was that the question?”

Draco shook his head with a roll of his eyes. “Eager to get rid of me, are we?” he drawled, much to the other man's embarrassment.

“No I just meant-,”

“Relax, Longbottom I'm joking.”

The wizard eyed him with slight unease before nodding. “It's Neville.”

Draco paused. “Right, Neville. Well I just wanted to know if you'd run into any issues with him.”

Longbo- _Neville_ frowned. “Look Malfoy, I don't want any trouble.”

“So you have,” Draco surmised, smirking when the other wizard sighed at his own mistake. “I'm not on his side, I just want to know. Points have been raining _out_ of our hourglass and I'd like to know why. Please.”

Neville looked more uneasy than before but spoke anyway. “Yeah I guess. I just found him out around after curfew a lot of the time. You know... lurking. Sometimes he'd have firewhiskey with him, and once he was trying to break into the Library.”

“When?”

“Um… a few days ago. Maybe a week ago?”

“I need you to be specific, Longbottom.”

“Uh… seven days ago? It was the Potions exam! Yes the day of the Potions exam.”

Draco frowned. That had been the day before his fateful Divination presentation- the day before the library had been messed with and his link had been established.

“You said he was trying to break in?”

“Well,” Neville thought back, crossing his arms. “I suppose he was breaking _out_. Or getting out after breaking in, I'm not sure. Ginny and I took him to McGonagall. He was raving about something, I'm not sure what. Gin might remember. He was pissed out of his mind though. Shut up when we got to the office and then passed out conveniently before McGonagall could rage on him. Yeah.”

Draco stared at the Gryffindor and found himself slowly nodding. 

“That it, Malfoy?”

Draco nodded faster then, satisfied, and shot Neville a grin before digging his hands deeper into his pockets and swivelling around to find Granger. “Thanks, mate. And that's Draco, I suppose.”

He heard rather than saw Neville’s shocked reaction and chuckled as he wound through the slowly dispersing crowd of prefects. Most straggled off in pairs, muttering or talking loudly about the exit plans, the whole search fiasco, or the impending danger to them all. Most looked tired, but a few faces sported excitement if you looked carefully. You could hate the warrior in you all you wanted, but once they got a taste of blood, of danger or even the morbid thrill of a life threatening situation, there was no going back. 

Granger was wedged between Patil and Boot, and whatever interrogation they were conducting had the Gryffindor witch blushing furiously, her round freckled features a deep shade of rogue. Draco expertly avoided them as they walked by and dropped behind to follow them at a leisurely pace. 

“You can't blush that madly and expect us to believe you,” Patil was smirking. 

“You're red as beet,” Boot pointed out with a soft laugh. 

“A kid has died,” Granger hissed back, true to form. “And you two insist on being childish!” 

“A crush isn't-,” Patil’s voice broke off suddenly, hushed by the other witch.

_A crush_ , Draco wondered; face scrunching up at the thought. What on earth did that mean? Granger fancied someone. It was the least of his worries though. 

“Eavesdropping?” a voice interjected sourly, and Draco shot the newcomer a well-practised glare for interrupting. 

Ginny Weasley walked an arm's distance away from him, frowning at him with a sideways glare. She tossed her red hair over her shoulder when he retaliated with a scowl, and much to his chagrin began to speak again. 

“I know Hermione and I aren't close, but she and my brother are so I'm going to warn you to stay away from her.”

Draco rolled his eyes; this wasn't the conversation he'd expected. “Spare me the overbearing friend speech, Ginger, and maybe tell me about what Zabini was ranting and raving over that time you caught him outside the library.”

Her face darkened imperceptibly, and Draco took a moment to observe her tired, drawn features. He wanted to tell her he understood her pain, that he felt deeply for all of their losses as of he'd been the one to cause them himself, bit he was the wrong person to do so, so he stayed quiet. 

“You alright?” he asked without thinking. 

Ginny stared back at him with a blank expression before shuttering her shock with a scowl. “Like you care, Malfoy.”

“Dreamless Sleep helps,” he suggested, ignoring the way she spat his name. 

She watched him from the corner of her eye and snorted. “Right. And why would I need that?”

Draco pretended to mull it over. “You left the Memorial Ball early, I suspected you had flashbacks. It’s common for survivors.”

She shot him a filthy glare at that. “I was with Terry, Malfoy, nice try. I was even there to break up Ron, Harry and Hermione’s fight. I don't know what you're trying to ferret out of me but it isn't working.”

She hurried her step instinctively, before suddenly slowing down. 

“Zabini was ranting about ‘ _the cause’_ and his ‘ _ques_ t’, a lot of gibberish from a drunken man basically. He also swore at your name a few times. There. Happy?” she muttered, before rushing ahead to hook an arm around Boot’s shoulders and squeeze her way into the conversation.

 

* * *

 

 

When it became clear that they were headed for the house towers first, Draco decided to follow them instead of head to the Head's dorm himself. Patil and Boot left first, and then Granger dropped Weaslette by the Fat Lady’s portrait, before turning to double back to the castle and head for their dorms. She caught sight of where he stood waiting by a pillar and scoffed. 

“You walk so silently, I nearly fired a nonverbal when I heard you scuff your shoe,” she muttered darkly, punching his arm when she passed him. 

Draco smirked. “Why didn't you?”

“I saw your shiny head reflected on a knight's armor as you passed it,” Granger sniffed, intending to bruise his feelings with the jab to his near albino features. 

“Well, while you were gossiping about _boys_ with your girlfriends, I was seeking out important information.”

“For once in your life,” Granger snorted. 

_Someone_ was tetchy.

“That's not fair. I waited for you. So you didn't have to die.”

She laughed at that. “Thank you, although I'm sure you just waited so you wouldn't have to _see_ me die, in a vision or something.” 

He tried to ignore her smirk and the objection welling in his chest. Of course what she said was true. He was Slytherin to the core wasn't he? Himself first. Always. 

Without answering, he repeated his findings to her, starting with his confusion of how the killer had been vouched for, and ending with Zabini’s crazy talk. 

“Wow,” Granger huffed, shaking her head as if to collect herself. “That's a lot to take in. Let's start with the first thing. I wondered that too. I'm sure the faculty thought that the check would reveal two absent students- one the killer, and the other the victim. Luckily Hagrid vouched for us.”

“I suppose we owe him,” Draco muttered, begrudgingly. 

Granger chuckled at his dismay and urged their stroll into a brisk walk. “I'm not quite sure how she did it.”

“How does one be in two places at the _same time_?” Draco mused aloud. 

This girl was frighteningly capable, and if Granger wasn't the one helping him, he would've bet his inheritance that it was her. Then it hit him that he was walking on his own and the witch he'd been thinking about had stopped a few paces behind. 

“Oi, Granger,” he called. “What's holding you?”

She shook herself then and caught up with a quick jog, looking up at him nervously before clearing her throat. 

“This is, um… this is probably not what she's doing, but it is one way a person can be in two places at once is with a time turner.”

Draco frowned at that. “That wouldn't make sense with my visions, would it?” 

“I suppose it would,” she answered quietly. “One would live their day out normally and then when the day comes to an end they'd go back in time to do whatever they couldn't while their past self continues as they did.”

“You know an awful lot about this.”

“I know an awful lot about everything,” she challenged, and in her defensive voice he found his answer.

“You used a time turner.”

Granger sighed in defeat. “Yes, in Third year.”

“For _what?_ ” Draco asked bitterly. “Another adventure?” 

It was getting ridiculous how many times the trio had gone above their capacity as students in their trivial pursuits. Chosen one or no, Potter was just a pawn and it was laughable how much authority the Magical world had allowed him during his school years. 

“No,” Granger answered, surprising him. “I tried to take every subject.”

Draco stopped walking then and gawked at her back. Had he heard right?

“You used a time turner to go back and _study?_ ” he asked, confused and vaguely angry. “How did you even get it? Did you have to steal it?” 

“I'll have you know it was Ministry issued,” Granger replied strictly, eyes begging for him to stop.

“The Ministry issued a time turner to a teenager to _study?_ Bollocks,” he snapped. “That's absolutely _retarded_ \- they had time turners at their disposal and didn't think to go back in time and kill Tom Riddle?”

“I don't know Malfoy,” she muttered, irritated. “Don't be angry at _me!_ ”

“Of course I'm angry, that could've saved us all a lifetime of hurt and pain and everything!”

“It’s far more difficult than you think, messing with time. It takes a toll!”

They were yelling now, but he didn't care. The emotions bursting through his mind demanded that he channel his confusion through his anger.

“You’re perfectly fine, and you used it to _study!_ ” he spat, frowning daggers at her angered face.

“I wasn’t _fine_ back then, Malfoy!” she argued back, eyes tearing up suddenly. “I was a Third Year drowning in my aspirations and with no one to help me. Are you suggesting I should’ve gone so far back in time to kill the darkest wizard to ever grace London?”

“Well anything would’ve been better than using it to study! He was vulnerable once you know.”

“Are you kidding me?! You think I should’ve killed him before he was a threat? While he was still in Hogwarts? When he was a kid? You want thirteen year old me to go back in time to kill a _child_ when eighteen year old you couldn’t kill a hundred year old man? You are _disgusting!_ ”

Draco felt his haze of anger lift slowly, noticing her clear dismay and his own stupidity. “Granger, I didn’t mean-,”

“ _Dumbledore_ should’ve done something, _someone_ should’ve done something- but it was never my responsibility!” she snapped. “You can’t stand there and tell me that I should’ve done something like that when you couldn’t even stand up for yourself at any point in your life ever!”

“I’m sorry, Granger.”

She heaved heavy breaths violently, as if the sounds of her gasps would attack him all on their own, and watched him with reddening eyes and a look of hurt and regret.

“I’m not sorry for what I said,” she stated flatly, raising her chin in a challenge.

Draco sighed and nodded, inhaling through his nose. “It’s the truth, I deserved it,” he acquiesced, bowing his head in shame. 

She nodded shakily, lifting a hand to brush at the end of her nose, surreptitiously feeling her cheeks for the tears that had tracked their way down her face without warning.

“I’m just stressed I think,” she mumbled around a curtain of her hair, fingers rubbing at her skin.

He sighed heavily and stepped forward, parting her messy curls to rub his thumbs gently at the skin under her yes where the tears had welled along her lashes. She looked up at him with a wry smile and leaned her face forward till the sides of her cheeks rested against his palms, cradled.

“I’m sorry for getting angry,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to.”

She nodded silently, and pulled away. “So,” she muttered with a small sniffle. “She probably has a time turner.”

Draco let out a huff of air. “Probably.”

“That doesn’t explain the Chamber and how it came to be.”

Draco sighed at that, following her lead as she turned to keep walking. He fell in line behind her, thinking.

“Maybe she transfigured a room?” Granger suggested.

“You had a feeling it wasn’t real didn’t you?”

The witch bit her lip lightly. “Yes well, the basilisk carcass… it wasn’t there. It survived from Second year till the battle at Hogwarts. Bone doesn’t deteriorate so fast.  It couldn’t have disappeared over the span of a year. That’s what tipped me off earlier. How did you know?”

“You hesitated,” Draco answered simply. “When you were explaining what the Chamber looked like you held back some information. I assumed something was wrong and you wanted time to think about it yourself before telling me.”

At her protest he laughed quietly, cutting off her indignant reply. “You do that sometimes, that’s alright. Like with the soul mate idea. Although later when you mentioned Weasley I thought maybe the hesitation had more to do with uncomfortable memories rather than what the place looked like.”

Granger chuckled at that, thankfully. He’d half expected a negative response to his jab at the redhead.

“Uncomfortable doesn’t _begin_ to cover it,” she explained.

He nodded even though he didn’t know what had happened, and muttered the password to the sleepy griffin before pushing their way into the dorm.

Granger yawned then, stretching her arms above her head and moving to stand on the balls of her feet. In this pose the edges of her upturned palms barely reached his nose. He watched her with a smirk and a sad feeling that deepened when she batted her eyes sleepily, looking around in search of something.

“We need sleep,” she muttered, heading for the kitchenette to fetch some of her muggle snacks. “Also a shower- I’ve been in this uniform since six in the morning.”

Draco agreed noncommittally, stretching out on the sofa tiredly. “What about Blaise?”

“Well, we know he’s not the killer,” she replied, hopping onto the seat with a bag of small pretzels coated in cinnamon and chunks of sugar. “But he’s been acting so strange lately; it makes sense that he must be involved in this.”

“He doesn’t have to be in cohorts _with_ her,” Draco noted, stealing a few candied confectionery from her strange, brightly coloured plastic bag. “He could be a lone player.”

Granger hummed around a mouthful of pretzel. “Mhm. And you say he was caught sneaking out of the Library? Talking about a quest and such, wasn’t he? It sounds like he had some kind of plan and it had to do with something he either took from or hid in the library. It could be part of his agenda.”

“It could have something to do with the book he’s looking for now,” Draco suggested.

Granger made a sound of excitement. “Oh, oh! What if he hid that book on the day Gin and Neville found him? In the Library. And the next day someone knocked the shelves over and stole it. Or accidentally came into possession of it.”

“And?”

“And now he’s looking for it?”

“Why would he hide a book in the library unless he meant for someone to take it?” Draco asked incredulously. “It’s not the best hiding place if his entire plan hinged on hoping that nobody would find the book interesting to borrow.”

“Maybe he had an elaborate plan ready and it got thrown off somehow, I don’t know, Malfoy! I’m just guessing.”

Draco sighed and crunched on a few more pretzels, slipping into a sour mood. “Let’s assume he did hide this book, and the following day our killer found it and opened the link. How did that happen?”

“Maybe it’s a powerful dark magic book that contains spells and incantations,” Granger suggested, yawning again.

Draco shot a glance in her direction, and smiled lightly. “You’re half asleep, Granger. Go get some rest. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

The witch nodded gratefully and stumbled to her feet. “I’ll write to Ron about Adrian Rookwood and see if he can ask Percy to find out who he is… what significant people he was related to. It might give us insight into why these people are being targeted.”

“He works at the Ministry?”

“Mhm. And I’ll ask Harry to check up on the Ministry’s time turners.”

Draco nodded his assent. “And I’ll find out more about that Slytherin girl.”

Granger suddenly snapped to attention, eyes clearing of their bleary haze and sharpening to a strange glare. “Who?”

Draco shot her an amused glance. “That creepy girl from Hagrid’s class. She’s strange, and detached enough to keep functioning after this many tortures.”

Granger paused. “Oh. But isn’t she so young? I thought it would be someone seasoned in the art of violence.”

Draco shook his head. “Doesn’t have to be. Maybe she’s crazy enough for it. Plus it would explain how she missed the basilisk in the Chamber. She hadn’t even been to Hogwarts until this year- she wouldn’t have known.”

“But why?”

“Her sister died in the war.”

“Everyone lost someone,” Granger protested, reverting to her sleepy state.

Draco pondered that well after she left, staring into the fire in silence and hoping against hope that the nightmares wouldn’t get him this time.

 

* * *

 

It was the first time Draco had actually noticed Blaise lurking, and he realised then that he wished he never had. Sure Granger had told him that the other Slytherin had been effectively stalking them for some time now, but he'd never actually seen him in the act and hadn't wanted to either. Funnily, it seemed that Blaise hadn't realised he'd been spotted. Draco watched as his friend shuffled to lean discreetly behind a pillar a few paces away, angled to face the portrait to the Heads’ dorm. Having just finished a morning run to cleanse his mind from its nightly terror attacks, Draco had a full view of his classmate’s hiding place as he strode up the corridor from behind. 

Blaise shifted around restlessly as if he didn't care to remain hidden, but had taken some consideration to hide himself anyway. His hair was matted instead of floating above his forehead in its natural stylish state. Draco figured he probably hadn't showered in a while judging by his stringy hair and old, crumpled uniform. He looked like what Granger had resembled after sleeping in the owlery, except three days old. He had a fag stuck between his teeth, chewed on one end and unlit on the other. His hands twisted the sides of his robes before untwisting the bunched up cloth and winding it between his fingers again. Draco would have bet his fortune then that Blaise's pianist fingers and manicure were far gone. He observed his dishevelled house mate for a few more seconds before deciding it was unbearable, and made his presence known with a small cough.

The other man jerked upright in shock and turned around rapidly, eyes blown wide.

“Eh, Draco, mate,” he stammered, unusually flustered. “Great to see you.”

“Can't say the same,” Draco replied in a pleasant tone, raising a brow at Blaise’s responsive glower. “Pleasant morning?”

“I thought you didn't like to play games?” Blaise muttered wryly, eyeing the other man with distaste. 

“Have it your way then,” Draco shrugged. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

“There's the Draco we know and love to hate,” Blaise smirked, crushing the cigarette between his fingers. “Waiting for you, that's all.”

“Behind a pillar?” Draco asked flatly. “Looking like a five day old owl turd? You wanted me to be direct Blaise, if you can’t do the same then I suggest you leave now.”

“I was waiting for you, you know!” Blaise spat, frowning angrily. “You think you know everything, well you don't! Things are happening, mate. Things are coming that you won’t be able to stop. You can pretend everything is utopia now that the war is over- tell Shackelbot that he can keep playing his games, dumping Death Eaters where they don't belong with Mudbloods who don't belong either. You can pretend it’s all over, but the problem remains. Where there is a need for revolution, the people will provide.”

Draco stared at his manic eyed classmate with barely concealed confusion. “What in Merlin’s name?” 

“You better choose a side Malfoy,” Blaise muttered. “But I don't care. That's just what they want me to say. Go save the world with your Mudblood if you want, see if I care.”

“Don't call her that,” Draco deadpanned. “And stop this pathetic doom and gloom nonsense- you sound like a heretic. Just… Just stay the hell away from us.”

“Us, is it?” Zabini noted, suddenly pleased. “Or what?”

“You wouldn’t want to know.”

“You’ve got it all wrong, Draco love. It’s not me you have to be afraid of. They know where you are, mate,” Blaise snickered darkly, shuffling away as he spoke. “Say hi to mother dear for us.”

“You stay the fuck away from my mother,” Draco hissed, hating himself for reacting, hating himself for letting the other man’s words get under his facade. 

Blaise smirked. 

“I don't know what you think is going on, Zabini,” Draco glowered darkly, clenching his fists by his sides threateningly. “But I'll find out what it is and have you tossed in Azkaban for good,”

“Ah Azkaban,” Blaise tittered, smirk growing into a lopsided grin. “The place you should be in?”

“I'm not the one killing people,” Draco spat. “I know you're involved.”

At this Blaise paused, eyes that were previously lit with crazed excitement dulling to confusion. He looked up at Draco with a slightly questioning glance, perplexed. 

“Wha?” 

Draco watched him in disgust. The fucker didn't seem to even know what he was talking about. 

“The kids going missing in school?” Blaise sneered suddenly, angry for some reason. “I don't know what that's about, Malfoy. In fact that crap is right up your alley. That's not what we're about. Damn, I don't know why they chose you, you're fucking stupid.”

“Who is this _‘we’_?” Draco demanded, tired of playing around. “What are you talking about?” 

“It's not my fault you don't understand!” 

“I think it _is_ your fault!” Draco snapped back, incensed. “You look like what I did when I had the Dark Lord breathing over my back and an impossible fucking task to complete!”

“Fuck off.”

“What have you done?” Draco asked, punctuating each word with a menacing step forward.  

“Isn’t it too early in the morning for this?” a female voice interrupted flatly, sounding very much like she didn't want to know the answer. 

“Morning Draco,” Granger greeted sternly when they turned to face the now open portrait. “Blaise.”

“First name basis are we?” the other Slytherin grinned slyly, nodding at her in reply. “ _Hermione_.”

Draco felt physically ill at the revulsion that Blaise exuded with his leering face and voice. He wanted to punch the man. Granger looked calm somehow, and only arched a brow in a condescending manner. She looked every part the snobbish Pureblooded wife then, and Draco realised that despite her selflessness and unquenchable thirst for justice and knowledge, Granger knew exactly how to play the games life threw at her, and her cunning was as refreshing as it was intimidating. He needed to pick up his game. 

“Nice of you to drop by,” she said politely, before shooting Draco a compelling glare. “Draco if you will?”

He nodded immediately and took her cue to follow her into their dorm. She sounded so very much like his mother when she'd been the matriarch of the Malfoy estate in more ways than just in title. Her ability to sway opinion and concern to suit her whims used to be unparalleled. He missed her. 

The portrait swung shut behind them smoothly and Granger spun around to face him as soon as it closed. 

“What was that?”

Draco shrugged, annoyed. “I don't know! I was trying to get it out of him but you called me away!”

“Yes, because you were so close to beating him up!”

“You wouldn't know, you weren't there,” Draco muttered mulishly. 

Granger scoffed. “You know you were going to.” 

“How did you even know?”

“I could hear you both all the way to my room,” she muttered, moving towards the sitting room area, hands on her hips.

“You can't punch everyone who gets on your nerves,” she muttered as she went. 

Draco rolled his eyes. “Don't tell me you don't want to punch people who annoy you.”

Granger flopped on the couch and flashed him a smug smirk. “Of course I do. And I have.”

Draco flushed and averted his gaze, the side of his face smarting as if it remembered being pummelled by her tiny fist. He recalled crying about it to his mother. He'd been whiny as a child. 

“Yes well... Blaise would've deserved it,” he said, struggling to keep the undertones of sulkiness out of his voice. 

Granger noted them anyway. “Oh come off it. He just sounds deranged that's all.”

“Still I really would’ve liked to-,”

“If you talk about punching him one more time, I _will_ punch you.”

Draco held his tongue. Today was seemingly not a good day to mess with Granger even though he wasn’t quite sure why yet. She seemed… off. He decided it would be best for his health if he just moved on to more important issues. Logical discussions always made Granger feel better. Right?

“He said something was coming- some kind of plan was afoot. That's the kind of deranged people become when they have crazy friends.”

“And by _friends_ you mean evil cult mates,” she sighed. “Well I suppose they're the ones behind this then.”

“Just cause they're evil doesn't mean they are behind it,” he replied, mulling the logic over in his head in an attempt to avoid jumping to conclusions. “Blaise didn't seem to get that I was accusing him of being party to the murders. It wasn't on his mind at all. Which means that he’s up to something, but it been kept a secret. That or something has gone wrong. It would explain his terrible hygiene and self-care.”

“Let's talk about something else,” Granger groaned, running her hands over her eyes. “I didn't even get any sleep last night. So choose a good topic. Light. Fluffy.”

He was officially lost. What on earth was going on with her? Was this an emotional girl thing? What was it Pansy had called it? Mood swings? Great. Maybe this was the art where girls had heart-to-hearts with each other and combed their hair while talking about boys.  Granger didn’t look she combed her hair, but that was something he could never say for fear of mutilation.

“Like cakes,” she added brightly, just as he offered; “Like crushes?” 

He hadn't thought that one through at all, and now she was staring at him with bug like eyes and her mouth wide open and he realised how fucking stupid he was when he didn't pay attention to what he was saying.

“I'm going to kill Padma,” she muttered lowly, face redder than the fire in the fireplace. 

Draco let out a strangled chuckle that sounded more like a wheeze and less like a casual laugh. “Yeah, gotta love Patil. Blabbermouth she is.”

“Blabbermouth?!” Granger asked, voice nearly reaching a shriek, notifying Draco that his bluff had not helped him out in the least. “What did she _say?_ ”

“Nothing!” he sputtered, holding his hands up, palms facing her in surrender. 

“Draco Malfoy, so help me,” she growled. “If you think this is funny-,”

“I don't, I don't- honestly, Granger,” he amended hastily. “Nobody cares about your love life, especially me of all people.” 

She paused at that, face melting into a worried grimace. “You... what?” 

Oh fuck me, he groaned internally. This was karma for never having tried to socially interact with people on a genuine level. He was doomed to say the worst things, and fate was probably overjoyed at having the opportunity to have a laugh at the expense of a Malfoy. Fucking fuck. 

“You're such an arse,” she snapped, reddened cheeks blushing deeper in anger as her brows collided in a sharp frown.

“Granger,” he ventured carefully, reaching out with one hand. “I messed up, that wasn't what I wanted to say. Of course I care- sort of. Ugh, what I mean is you can tell me.” 

She hummed at that, tilting her head in silence for a long few minutes. “You're such a sap.”

Draco hung his head in despair. What was going on? Would he never win? “Are you having that moon cycle thing?”

“What?” she asked incredulously, laughing aloud. “Moon cycle, Malfoy? Honestly! I’m a girl not a werewolf. And _no_ I'm not on my period for heaven's sake, a woman can have emotional swings without bleeding from her vagina!”

“Merlin, I didn't need to know any of that,” Draco coughed desperately, eyes wide and pleading for mercy. 

Of course she'd wield her biology as a weapon. And her femininity, and her frailty. Ugh this woman played more games than everyone in Slytherin put together. Somewhere deep in his mind he knew she was having more fun than actually getting annoyed, but most of him was genuinely freaked out to care.  

“Too much information,” he begged. “I'd rather you punch me next time.”

“Instead of talking about perfectly normal things?” she scoffed. “I should!” 

He nodded in encouragement. “Yeah, it would hurt and scar me less for sure.”

The way her eyes lit up with a frenzied fire told him that again, it had been the wrong thing to say, and when she launched herself at him, fists flying in response to what she thought was an obvious challenge, Draco could only throw his arms up in defence and curse his bad sense of conversational tactics. 

“I _hope_ you scar,” she snapped pettily, peppering the expanse of his back with half-hearted punches. “Stupid ugly boy, I hate you.”

Her elbow collided with the side of his ribs and her knee pressed uncomfortably into his thigh as she rained tiny whacks along his back and the side of his head. He wondered belatedly if maybe she _was_ on her period.

“You're weak, Malfoy,” she crowed triumphantly, and he began to realise she probably was experiencing hormonal imbalances despite her denial, because an overly excitable and violent Granger was never a normal one. 

He’d never hung around a girl long enough to be attuned to these things, and there was no class that taught this kind of stuff. Pansy used to go bat shit crazy every month so the boys had termed it the ‘moon cycle’ for the fun of it, but beyond that he didn’t know much at all. All he could do was try to bring back a semblance of normalcy into his very strange predicament.

He grunted under a particularly sharp jab to the side of his neck before shrugging her off his shoulders and onto his back so he could pop his head out of the safety of his arms to snicker at her attempts at physical violence.

“You should stick to a wand,” he laughed. “This is like being poked with blades of grass.”

She screeched in outrage at that and clambered across him bodily to attempt a sloppy chokehold she'd probably learned from the Weasley boys. “I'll stuff your dead body with grass and _then_ you'll see!”

Draco choked out a laugh at that, doubling over under her weight and the press of her knee into his side. He didn't need her to know he was ticklish, so he settled for annoying her further; her crazed replies were a welcome entertainment as opposed to the seriousness of their case. Which they probably had to get back to in a while. Drat.

“Come on, Granger,” he urged. “Do your worst, but hold on I'm going to move us to the kitchen, my notes are there.”

“You're not going anywhere,” she breathed in what she probably thought was a menacing tone, before pushing all her weight forward in an attempt to entrap him on the couch.

Or something like that, he wasn't sure. 

“Right,” he chuckled, before extracting his arms from where they were stuck between his knees and his chest, and moving them around to grab for her calves before pressing his feet into the floor and pushing up to stand. 

She squealed as she hung onto his head, fingers pulling at his hair painfully, screaming about the many ways he'd meet his untimely but well deserved end. 

“I'll strangle you!” she promised loudly in his ear. “I'll skewer you- no, I'll have you drawn and fucking quartered like someone from the Victorian ages! Or did they just behead back then? You know what? Fuck you, Malfoy. And not in the good way.”

Draco laughed again, coughing slightly when her arms tightened around his neck, her weight dragging her backwards. “There's a good way?”

“You slimy git!” she shrieked then, realising what he’d meant. “You will regret this for the rest of your miserable life, I swear to you!”

He was about to answer with something to sober her and remind her of their case, when the fireplace whooshed loudly, causing the witch to scream at the sudden greenish tinge that flooded the room. 

Someone stepped out of the fire and Granger screamed again. 

“You tell your back-up to back the _hell_ up, Malfoy!” she ordered. “You will die!” 

And Draco could do nothing as Harry Potter stood in the sitting room with confusion clear upon his face before realising what was happening and drawing his wand immediately. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you guys liked it. Just to explain in case you were wondering- I realised how difficult it is to have a smooth working relationship with someone, especially from the other gender. People think differently always, but there's some understanding that women will have of each other and men will have of other men. I feel like Hermione would be used to boys being boys, so she doesn't conflict with Draco on account of his primarily male qualities like wanting to punch people to solve things. Ron would do that too. Where she does conflict with him is justice over self preservation, being brave, the war and their choices.  
> Draco isn't used to girls being girls- I'm not talking about Pureblood girls that have to conceal and don't feel. I mean normal girls. Who speak freely about their periods and just get moody for the sake of it, or work themselves into emotional confusion. IDK i drew from my own stupid emotional messes here.   
> see you next tiiiime!


	10. Annihilation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's a me, late-o  
> yeah I know, I took forever... but it was hard ok, this chapter gave me so much trouble :/  
> again, thanks for your comments, I love them so much!

“Hermione don't kill him it isn't worth it,” he pleaded, and Draco sighed. 

“What are you doing here, Potter?” he asked wryly, awkwardly aware that Granger was still clinging to his back. 

“Harry?” she asked slowly, peering from around his head. “Oh my gosh, it _is_ you!” 

She struggled to climb down and as soon as her feet touched the floor she flew at him, grinning widely, her execution forgotten. 

“Harry Potter how dare you turn up unannounced!” she cried, sweeping him up in a hug. “I've missed you so. And Pig.”

“Pig?” Potter asked, looking so bewildered that Draco began to feel slightly sorry for him. “As in Ron's owl?”

At Granger's happy nod Potter seemed to descend into further confusion. 

Draco decided to assist him. “She's very excitable,” he offered, crossing his arms and trying to ignore the sting that rippled across his back as he moved. 

That witch had claws.

“Oh. Right. It’s that time...  uh right,” Potter said awkwardly; he seemed to get it. “Usually she just reads and yells at us.”

Draco shrugged and Potter went back to staring awkwardly at the far wall, scratching his head as he stood there while Granger hugged him obliviously. He made eye contact with Draco and then averted his gaze quickly. 

“Well sorry for the surprise, but I've got some stuff about the murders.”

That seemed to be the magic words, and the witch snapped to attention immediately, letting go of her friend to stare him in the eye, face serious and focused.

“Oh,” she muttered. “Come on, let's sit and talk.”

Draco stiffly stood by the fireplace, shooting it annoyed glances as Potter and Granger settled on the couch. 

“I didn't know our fireplace was connected to the floo,” Granger pointed out, bringing to light the subject of Draco's annoyance. 

Potter shrugged. “It’s probably a one way connection. I came in from McGonagall's office.” 

Granger considered this silently and Potter took this as his cue to explain his presence. He pushed his glasses up his nose and turned to Granger and sighed heavily. 

“You know this is an Auror’s only case,” he muttered tiredly. “And they have a strict policy against vigilantism. I have to advise you both to stop pursuing this girl, and the case.”

Granger shot her friend a look of incredulity. “I'm sorry Harry, I can't hear anything over the sound of your hypocrisy.”

“Hermione,” Potter sighed dramatically, mouth tugging into a smile. “Don't do this.”

Granger considered this and seemed to relent. “On one condition.”

“Fire away,” Potter replied, looking vaguely suspicious. 

“That the Department arrest the three of us and the DA for active vigilantism during the time of the war.”

“Hermione!”

“Was that not illegal?” she asked innocently.

“That was a war! The laws are different in wars.”

“This is a war; in fact this could also be self-defence.”

“It's not.”

“Then you'll just have to arrest me.”

The conviction with which she said that stunned Draco. He'd known she wouldn't have given up on the case, but had expected her to comfort her friend and continue to solve the issue at the same time. Of course Hermione Granger would try her best to avoid being caught in a lie or a double standard. 

Draco smirked at Potter's admission of defeat, and watched as the other man stretched out on the couch.

“Well since that's done,” he announced, in a voice that said ‘I tried’. “Let's move on to what you asked for. We looked into the time turners, but majority of them were destroyed during the war. They're stuck in an endless time loop; falling off the shelves and breaking only to recreate and fall over again.”

Granger's dismay was almost palpable. She cast a disgruntled stare upon Draco before suddenly snapping back to Potter. 

“There must be more time turners than just at the Ministry,” she muttered, already half convinced of her own assumption.

Potter chuckled and relented. “There are a few, but the information won’t help us much. When Voldemort's first rise to power was underway there was a steep incline in false time turners designed to fool the public into thinking they can change their own fate. You know, save themselves. It was a fairly new concept to Britain so the dummy time turner business was lucrative. The Death Eaters used this as a cover, and Ministry records say there were at least five real time turners of varying degrees of functionality that were smuggled into the UK during that time. Now they're pretty much untraceable.”

“But?” Draco asked quietly.

Potter turned to face him and held his gaze with determined eyes. “But, rumour and several open cases with cold leads suggest that those five were distributed among the Pureblood families in such a way that the 28 lines could have access to at least one. No one knows how this sharing process worked or even if it was real- but that’s all I have.”

“It’s somewhere to start,” Granger beamed, nodding enthusiastically. “Thanks Harry.”

Potter nodded and stood, brushing his cloak and heading for the portrait. “Don’t mention it ‘Mione. It was worth it, and at least I got to see you.”

“And Malfoy,” Granger chuckled with a stupid grin, hugging her friend goodbye.

“Er, yes well,” Potter muttered, adjusting his glasses again. “Are you two going to go back to killing each other now?”

“Well now that you mention it,” Draco deadpanned, as the witch protested hastily, denying her earlier intentions.

“I wasn’t going to Harry, honest! It’s just the cramps, they hurt and he’s an arse-,”

“Well why not? I think a good hex or two would do him good,” Potter suggested, shooting a stunned Granger a smug glance. “Or you could take him back to his ferret days, give it a good bounce.”

“I’ll have you know that was a traumatic experience,” Draco called after him as the other wizard slipped through the portrait hole with a smirk, leaving him with an excited Granger and her myriad of emotions.   

“If men could give birth, I wouldn’t have to go through this and none of this would happen,” Granger noted matter-of-factly.

Draco tried his best not to imagine that. He really did.

“Oh Merlin- _ugh_ … just punch me. _Now_.”

__

* * *

 Draco left the witch to her own devices, deciding he'd had enough of her strangeness for one day. He'd let Patil into their dorm to keep Granger company and the Ravenclaw had laughed her skinny arse off upon arrival, telling him that whatever he'd suffered, he'd probably deserved. 

He'd wandered the school grounds then, in deep contemplation, avoiding highly populated areas like the Quidditch grounds and the Lake. He penned a letter to his mother, which he sent with an owl immediately, and continued to mill about aimlessly, ruminating over everything he and Granger had found. Potter's information was awfully valuable and Draco mulled it over in his head, wondering what the man had meant. He'd mentioned that several functioning time turners were in existence in London, hidden under the protection of Pureblood families. How lucky of the trio to have a Pureblood friend, he thought with a smirk. He found himself heading for Hagrid's cabin subconsciously, and allowed a small smile at the thought of handling whichever animals the half-giant had tramping around his house. Maybe Olc was awake- he missed the lump of scales. She'd been awfully ill and temperamental; nearly costing them a roof and the entire patch. Dragon's Breath was a real and dangerous thing. That kind of fire burned forever. Sort of. At least that's what they say.

Halfway to the cabin Draco stumbled upon a small gathering of Fifth Years and suspiciously glared over at them in an effort to scope the group. Sure enough the girl was there.

She was wedged between two larger boys who stood by her, skipping rocks across the forest like as if they were by the lake. She spoke past them to another girl who sat glowering in a corner, and Draco immediately noticed the hierarchy in the social group. Somehow, crazy girl pulled the strings here. 

He sauntered towards them, unknowingly adopting his slouching stroll from his earlier days; the walking style he'd adopted to appear menacing and dangerous. Draco flicked his fingers at the two boys when they looked up and saw him approach, and they scrambled to obey. It wasn't news that the Malfoy heir wasn't friendly in any sense of the term, and as much as he portrayed a decent front after his minor stint in Azkaban, he never really lost his severe glares and downright bone-chilling deathly aura. Strangely, the second girl sat where she was, unswayed by his dramatic entrance, and huffed in displeasure when he sat himself beside them.

“Oh, mister Malfoy,” the young blonde from his class greeted casually, gesturing to her friend with a flippant hand. “He’s the one who taught us about Occamies, Blythe. Remember those?”

 _Blythe_ rolled her eyes at this, face clouded with dark make up that flashed subtle warning signals that Draco was somehow missing.

“Ugh, _he’s_ the sub? She won’t shut up about those magic chickens now. It’s on you buddy.”

“I’m not a substitute, I’m your Head Boy,” Draco deadpanned, annoyed with _Blythe’s_ apparent ignorance.  

“Oh,” she sighed. “You’re _that_ Malfoy.”

“There aren’t any others,” Draco snapped. “And it’d do you good to respect your superiors.”

“I don’t _respect_ ,” she snorted back, looking smug for some reason. “I resist.”

Draco stared back at her in mild concern. What a dumbass thing to say. She sounded like a rebellious teen from a Lockhart novella, all ready to take on the world until a bull-headed heartthrob sweeps her off her feet. He felt like gagging. Instead, he focused on the task ahead and forged on with the conversation, determined to ignore Blythe’s input.

“You mentioned you were estranged from your Pureblood family,” he said, tilting his face to peer at the blonde whose name he still didn’t know. “Who were they?”

“My real family?” she asked, eyes flashing. “I don’t know.”

She was lying, and not very well, but he couldn’t push it without seeming suspicious. Somehow he had to bring up the murders without raising red flags as to his intentions. Despite not being raised a Pureblood, the girl was still a Slytherin and all those in the house of snakes knew better than to let their guard down for even the most innocent of questions.

“So what about that kid huh?” Blythe droned on, grinning cheekily. “Sucks he died.”

The blonde girl hummed in agreement as her friend went on, “D’you suppose he was actually killed?”

“I think so,” the other girl replied, observing the trees around them in disinterest. “Why wouldn’t he be?”

“Jayden’s the one who told us,” Blythe laughed. “And I’ll bet my ass he lied just so he could be an attention hoe.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“Ugh, fine, let’s ask your precious Malfoy.”

“He’s not my precious anything!”

“He’s seated right here,” Draco snapped waspishly. “And would greatly appreciate not being talked about as if he wasn’t.”

Great. Fucking _great_. He’d wandered straight from one awful encounter with the female kind to yet another. It was like as if a strange toxicant was in the air or something, and it only affected girls somehow. Like spring allergies, but with more awkwardness and instead of hives.

Blythe seemed to have disregarded what he’d said, already moving back to her gossip with excitement.

“Well if he really was killed that would be _sick_!” she crowed. “Finally, something interesting.”

“Is the school’s mortality rate too low for you?” Draco asked sarcastically, momentarily derailed form his mission by the other Fifth Year’s strange mind-set.

“Uh, duh?” she replied, rolling her eyes. “ _Nothing_ goes on in this school, I swear. It’s like we’re in a magic bubble or something.”

Draco sneered at her. “A war was fought on these grounds, is that not enough?”

“Yeah but we didn’t fight it.”

Draco hated the way her voice ended in a whine and hated the way he felt like strangling her for it. For being sad that she missed the war. As if it had been some kind of event of the century. Boo fucking _hoo_. He wanted to hit something.

“If he really was killed,” the blonde girl spoke up suddenly. “Is it true you and the Head Girl are hunting the murderer down?”

“What?”

“Yeahh,” Blythe chirped in, nodding enthusiastically like she was grateful for someone having brought this up. “Cressida told us you were with Hermione and y’all were some super team.”

“That’s not even-,”

“I think that’s a _great_ move,” Blythe opinionated, speaking over Draco’s flustered denial. “In my opinion the Trio are overrated.”

“They helped win the war,” Draco explained with a confused frown.

“Ugh the war is _all_ anyone talks about.”

“It was just last year-,”

“Do I look like I care?” Blythe interrupted flatly. “Just go be a super sleuth with your girlfriend and spill the details. Of the murder not about you two.”

“There’s no us!” Draco stressed, unsure how the conversation had just unwound. “And there is no super team.”

“You should focus on catching the killer,” the blonde piped up quietly. “They need to be stopped.”

Draco sighed heavily and shot Blythe a glare before turning to consider her words. “They’ll be in Azkaban in no time. McGonagall has Aurors after them.”

“No,” the girl protested vehemently, shocking her friend as well as Draco. “You have to find her, and make her pay.”

“I can’t do that-,”

“Killers deserve to be killed.”

Draco swallowed tightly and glanced at Blythe for help, who merely shrugged and looked back at him, unconcerned. He grunted under his breath and scrambled to gather his wits.

“That is not up for us to decide,” he tried, sensing the blonde girl’s hurt and anger.

“They killed a small boy! He has a _family_ ,” she exclaimed in a rage, grasping at the grass by her side and flinging it across the open space before her. “That’s not fair! They _deserve_ to be killed.”

“Whoever kills her deserves to be killed too,” Draco sighed heavily; frowning darkly at a tree, his eyes unfocused. “Even if they are pardoned or ignored by the law saying that they have done a good deed, they will suffer anyway. That is the price of taking a life. Your intentions do not take away the innocence you lose.”

The silence stormed between the three of them as they sat there in the clearing by the edge of the forest, tense and quiet. Blythe moved first, shuffling around to collect a few leaves that she promptly shredded between her fingers.

“Well, whatever it is,” she offered lightly. “I think you two are cute.”

“You don’t even know who we are!” Draco protested, scowling darkly in annoyance.

Blythe smirked and shoved the stiff blonde girl in an attempt to loosen her up. “We ship who we want, ain’t that right Blair?”

Blair- _that_ was her name- shook herself out of her thoughts and smiled wearily. “Yeah I guess. That’s creepy though.”

“It is,” Draco snapped. “Stop.”

“Imagine their babies,” Blythe snorted, squealing at the thought.

“That’s it, I’m docking House points,” Draco muttered, aghast, standing to leave the strange teens to their own misery.

“They’ll be like star-crossed lovers,” Blythe cooed as he stalked away, clasping her gloved hands to her heart. “Classic Greek tragedy… doomed from the start.”

Draco scowled at that and mulled over it as he trudged to Hagrid’s cabin, annoyed and angry at himself and everything else to such an extent that when Olc greeted him with a friendly fire attack, he nearly Avada’d the creature on sight.

* * *

 

He flashed Granger the Howler that had come along with the rest of his expected mail as soon as he entered through the portrait hole, the vivid envelope straining to be opened. Patil noted their shared tense glances and scampered out the dorm in silence, eyes flicking between them with barely concealed interest. 

Once the portrait swung shut, Granger leaped forward for the Howler, seemingly ignoring her unusual mood and obviously uncomfortable situation. Her fingers paused for a heartbeat before sliding beneath the lip of the sealed message and tearing it open. 

“Hermione Granger!” it screamed upon being unleashed, the unmistakeable voice of Ronald Bilius Weasley filling their dorm, uninvited. 

“You had best have a decent explanation for conducting an extra-judicial investigation- that's right, I know what those are! You've got to be joking! Just... don't die, dammit.”

The voice grumbled mutinously for a few seconds before picking up in volume.

“And thanks for asking Percy for help and nOT ME! YOUR BEST FRIEND!! I AM _BEHOOVED_ TO RECOMMEND YOU RETHINK YOUR DECISION TO WORK WITH THE FERRET. I KNOW YOU TWO ARE UP TO NO GOOD TOGETHER AND FRANKLY, I DON'T SEE IT.”

Granger winced at that part, casting Draco a weary, apologetic look. 

“Don't be fooled by the shiny hair, ‘Mione. It's fake, there's actual research about it. ‘ _Legendary Malfoy Hair is Faker than Their Noses_ , Research says’. Think about it.”

The message paused for what  Draco assumed was dramatic effect, before continuing in a calmer voice. 

“Well Perce wouldn't answer to me so he sent his own letter. I'll catch up with you later I guess. There's been an attempted break in at Gringott’s- Harry and I won't be able to make it for that movie tonight. Paperwork. Bye ‘Mione. Love you, with or without your ferret germs.”

Draco scowled as the message shredded itself to bits, scattering across the stone floor in small crinkly ribbons of parchment. Granger was blushing vehemently and he mentally prepared himself for a tantrum. 

“He has no right,” she spat tiredly, clearly not vexed enough at her friend to put up a great fight to no one in particular. “Sorry for the entire ferret bashing thing- I'm sure it was a terrible experience. I'd know… I was a cat for a while. Let's open Percy’s letter then.”

“You look worried,” Draco noted, handing her the relevant envelope. 

It was Ministry sealed and had an air of official business to it. Granger sniffed at it and sighed. It did smell good- like hard pressed paper fresh out of the... papery? Draco didn't know, but it smelled like what bookstores smelled like and it was good. 

The witch shrugged, moving to sit on the couch as her fingers ripped into the, _thankfully_ , normal letter. “I guess I am worrying just a little bit. It's their first big case since becoming Aurors.”

“It’s just paperwork, Granger,” he pointed out in what he hoped was a consoling tone. 

The witch flashed him an annoyed glare, reminding him that her horrific mood swings were very much present despite their apparent hiatus. “I know that, Malfoy,” she snapped tartly. “I just- what if it is Death Eater activity?”

Draco strained for an appropriate answer and failed, resorting himself to a small shrug. 

“Can't say it isn’t,” he muttered. “While the war _is_ over, ideologies remain. Ideas are less easy to stamp out compared to people.”

“Very wise,” Granger agreed, nodding sagely. “Let's see what Percy has to say and get this case on the road.”

The letter was detailed in the neat flowing script of a Self-Writing Quill, spreading across the page in a straight column that was aligned to the centre of the parchment. Granger read it out aloud, eyes tracking the words with great focus and a lot of paraphrasing.

“He is writing to us with regards to our query- Jesus, Percy...you could have just said hi. Anyway- we asked about the boy, blah blah _blah_ , yes, finally - Rookwood. The name is familiar and brings terrible memories but he supposes he must express them to us anyway. Rookwood was the name of a man who betrayed the Ministry by turning to the Dark side sometime during the First Wizarding War. He was a spy, blah _blah_ , imprisoned until the mass breakout of ’96. Broke out in ’97 again and was last seen at the Battle of Hogwarts. Percy did cross paths with him then, and disarmed him, but lost him in the melee. He did not pursue because they had just lost Fred- oh no- he... he thinks he only ran after him because he was the first face Percy saw after Fred got crushed. And no, before we ask ourselves whether Rookwood killed Fred, he didn't. A section of a wall took him out after a particularly strong explosion.”

Granger paused here, silent tears cruising down her cheeks; her heightened emotions bubbling to the surface. 

“Oh Fred,” she moaned softly, pouting as she struggled to hold back her tiny sobs. “Poor Percy! We dredged all this up.”

Draco slowly tugged the letter out of her hands and peered at it for himself. Tears blotted out the man's signature at the end but nothing of consequence was lost. The letter was a lot more detailed than what Granger had been narrating and he frowned at her briefly before perusing its contents. He then read on from where he figured she'd stopped, forging the rest of Percy Weasley’s letter. 

“He says that the wand is in Ministry holding for now, but that's all they have on Rookwood. He's as good as dead. But the boy, the boy is a nephew. His brother's family had never been dragged under the scrutiny of the Dark Lord, the Rookwoods being half-bloods and all, and thus were free of any kind of punishment or scrutiny. They haven't had any relation with Augustus Rookwood- the Death eater- and their son was allowed into Hogwarts once it reopened to study as a Second Year.”

Draco stopped, feeling a sickening sensation clenching around his gut and pressing his stomach into his lungs. The poor boy- Adrian- had been involved in the war no more than Olc had been. He had no blood on his sleeves, no ghosts to catch up to him. He was very literally a pure sacrifice. But that couldn't be. The killer had toyed with him, played him to his death. That showed signs of malice and hatred. Deep hatred. He'd seen it in the Dark Lord. The man had tortured for fun yes, but those who displeased him, those who failed him... they received the longest and most drawn out punishments of them all. Draco had witnessed tortures that had been dragged out for days. The worst of the Dark Lord's failures would be fed to Greyback, who'd toy with them for a week or so- breaking his toys till they were nothing but muscle on bones, with no mind to resist, or to fight. Draco felt his stomach clench and swallowed deeply, sweat breaking out on his brow in the warmth of the room. 

Granger was eyeing him. “Why'd you stop?”

“That's all of consequence,” he muttered lowly, tossing the letter onto the tea table before them. “The rest is pleasantries.” 

Granger nodded demurely and sat back on the cushions. “You look sick,” she noted. 

“I feel sick,” Draco sighed. “That boy hadn't deserved any of that.”

“No one deserves torture,” Granger protested, frowning incredulously. 

“I would,” Draco sighed. “My father would. There are people in this world whose torture can be validated, and there are those who cannot. He was one of the latter.”

Granger choked out a horrified gasp. “You- shut _up_ Malfoy. Just shut up. I thought you were done beating yourself up over the past!”

“How can I ever be done doing that?!” he exclaimed in disgust. “People have died and other people are still suffering their losses and my choices contributed to those in so many ways. I- I can't ever stop repenting. Nothing I do will ever be enough for them. For you. For all the people who actually did something.”

“Malfoy,” Granger started, looking wry and but somehow not prepared to be defeated. “You being able to think like that is what makes you closer to being redeemed. And your actions take you the rest of the way. It’s not unreachable.”

“That's the thing, I know it isn't,” Draco snapped, fisting a handful of his hair and tipping his head forward to rest against his wrist. “I don't want it to be. I don't want to reach that level- where I don't have to berate myself every day. Because that means I can be happy, that means one day I could have my own happiness and maybe even deserve to.”

“Of course you deserve to- _everyone_ deserves to!”

“Not me, Granger!” he insisted vehemently, heart twisting inside his chest as she continued to press and _press_ with her _stupid_ do-good intentions and complete lack of understanding. “Just- just let it go, alright?” 

“No way,” she returned insistently, eyes begging for him to consider her side, her righteous opinion. “Malfoy, you can't let this rule your life. The fact that you consider these people's feelings and their loss means that you are different to the people who brought you up!”

“Don't do this Granger,” he muttered lowly, voice rasping with warning. “Let's just leave it as is.”

“What,” she challenged, rearing up to sit on her knees. “Does emotion _scare_ you, Malfoy? Does the notion of being free of your past make you nervous? Is that it?”

“Of course it fucking is!” he spat, uncaring of her reaction. “Granger my past _defines_ me- I am what I have done and without it I am nothing. The Malfoys are no one. Already, I am the last of us and after me there will be no one. No real Malfoys. My family will die and the last of us won’t even be a true Malfoy.”

“Is that what this is about?”

“No! It isn't- it is. It just- fuck, Granger, we're not doing this.” 

“We are.”

“No we aren't, shut up,” he stated flatly, standing and turning away from her. 

He could hear her harsh breathing from where she remained on the couch and closed his eyes to the room around him, blocking out the feeling of hopelessness that was threatening to submerge him in its inviting depths. 

She wasn't going to give up, he could tell. 

“Suit yourself,” she retorted, probably with her arms crossed, glaring at his back. “But you can't change the truth, even if you're going to hide from it. You aren't defined by your father Draco, and neither is your name. The Malfoys don't have any set definition any more than the Potters do. Do you think Harry had anything to live up to but the prophecy? Names are what you make them. And you're not going to be the last Malfoy, that's just ridiculous.”

“I did so many bad things.” 

“You can be a good man, Draco,” she continued in a softer voice. “And you already are.”

“That doesn't change anything.”

“I suppose so,” she sighed heavily. “But it can. If you let it. I forgave you. That's progress. People don't want to be burdened by your mistakes either. I let go of it for my sake, not yours. But in that I set you free of that guilt. Let yourself be freed, Malfoy.”

“It doesn't feel right,” he protested, eyes clenched shut as if to ward off her compassion. 

“Surviving doesn't feel right, but that's who we are- survivors. You, me, everyone in this school. We lived and they died, and for whatever reason these things happen, we cannot to take our gift for granted. And that's where the challenge lays. We either live for those who died, live life to the fullest and appreciate what they died for. Or we let ourselves rot in the past. It’s your choice.”

“There isn't always a choice.”

“Malfoy, stop this!” Granger snapped. “Look at me! You cannot keep this up any longer! It’s just easier isn't it? You're doing what's easier to do- to feel guilty and mope about!”

“I'm not fucking moping!” he growled, spinning around to face her and pin her in place with a murderous glare. “Don't you dare trivialise this to push your bloody point.”

He could almost see her steeling herself for the argument, eyes tightening around the corners, the usually warm depths of her irises now dark and full of warning. He paid them no heed. He wouldn't drown in their storm no matter how hard she raged or how strong she battered around him. Malfoys were stone. They persisted. And so he would persist- walking this earth as a regret rather than a man. He'd set himself to it, to expect a life of loneliness in search of redemption and he'd be damned if she tore it all apart with her godforsaken notions about what people _deserved_ and shit. 

“I'm pushing it because it’s true and you refuse to man up and accept it. You can atone for your past but you're being too much of a _coward_ to see that- and even still, you deserve to be told otherwise. To be shown that you can have what you think you can never achieve!”

“Granger you and your fuck ass utopian ideas are going to lead you to a dark, dark place called denial, and there's nothing but sadness and loneliness there.”

“And you'd know all about it, won't you,” she retorted hotly. “What with all the denial you've been burying yourself under, you coward.”

“If you're trying to tempt me-,”

“It’s working? I thought so,” she sneered. “It’s all you do- you have a whole life ahead of you and all you think you can do is bully people and yell and hurt those who hurt you. If anyone is compressing you to your past and your mistakes, it’s _you_.”

“ _Fuck off_.”

“You wish,” she laughed sardonically, appraising him with a sneer. “To think I expected you to have chosen better for yourself.”

“Fuck you and your expectations, Granger,” he growled darkly, fists clenching by his sides. “I don't need them and I don't need _you_.”

“I believed in you!” she screamed suddenly, leaping to her feet with her arms flung behind her in aggravation. “I thought you'd changed and that you wanted to!”

“Well I guess I'm just a disappointment then, like always.”

“You fucker,” she seethed. “Does none of this matter to you? Do you want to understand true loneliness? Do you want to be plagued by that for the rest of your life? You don't even know what it’s like!”

“As if you do!”

“Malfoy my parents don't know who I am!” she spat, eyes clouding over. “I am effectively without a family- in fact; Granger shouldn't even be my last name. And you stand there, preaching, about how you're content with being the last of your family, about how you are fucking fine with being like this forever!”

“I'm not asking for your fucking feelings on the matter, _Hermione_ ,” he sneered with a vicious tint to his voice, watching her expression crumble for a second. 

Her eyes watered slightly before shedding their tears and glaring daggers at him once again, the air crackling with her magic. “You get it anyway, you arse. We’re friends whether you like it or not.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed incredulously. “That's what you say now, Granger. But a few months later we'll be out of here and in the real world- where your real friends are, where society is- being associated with me is going to ruin all that. It’s going to be your downfall.”

She actually looked disappointed that he'd brought it up, like as if he was supposed to fucking _know_ something. 

“You're so stupid,” she glowered. “I'll fall then, you idiot. We're friends and I fall with my friends and I rise with them. You have my fucking loyalty till we die.”

“Unless I keep being ‘stupid’?” he laughed, frowning when she stayed silent. “You're insane, Granger. You shouldn't waste time on me, you shouldn't even be here.”

“What are you saying,” she said flatly, eyes boring into his skull, into his brain, into the very essence of _him_. 

“This is who I am Granger, and Merlin only knows why you fucking care,” he snapped, infuriated. “But you need to stop, because it won't change. I'm not your precious Potter or Weasley. Just cause we're solving this case doing mean shit about me. In the real world all that matters is who I was.”

“But you can change that!”

“You're deluded.”

“Bloody hell, you're being so stubborn. You showed me you were different, Malfoy- and you can show them! I believe it!” 

They were screaming now, voices raised as they flung words at each other with ragged breaths and pounding hearts. His head could barely catch up to what his mouth was saying and he barely processed her shrieks before retorting in a similar fashion, incensed beyond logical thought. He simmered at her insistence. 

“Why do you push this, for fuck’s sake-,”

“Because I care!”

“You fucking Gryffindors,” he seethed, throwing his arms up in a mockery of her. 

“You don't understand-,”

“I _do_ , just give the fuck up-,”

“I care about _you_ , you arsehole,” she shouted, voice hoarse and strained thin. “I care about you more than my _friends_ … more than a friend, and I’ll be damned if I let you go on thinking you deserve less than anyone else because I like you, and I’d like for you to be happy, preferably with _me!”_

Her voice rang breathlessly in the silence that followed and the heated glare she shot across the room burned through his forehead and seared his mind like a hot poker being thrust against flesh. It hurt. He didn't want to focus on it. He watched her fingers spasm at her sides and his mind churned, sickened and confused. 

“I'm a mess,” he offered, avoiding her eyes, heart lodged in his throat and slamming furiously into the pulse against his neck. His vision swam disconcertingly.

“Forget it,” she choked out, her lithe fingers twisting angrily before sliding into the pockets of her jumper. “Just... do whatever the fuck you want.”

He stood there silently as she turned on her heel and left, trudging to her room in quiet unease, leaving him with a strangled sensation that only tightened the further away she went. He wanted to reach out and stop her is what he wanted to do, but he knew she hadn't meant that last bit in a literal sense, so he didn't. Instead he watched her disappear into her room and felt his chest crumble. It was an awful sensation that sapped his anger and discomfort so fast, only to replace it with a hollow feeling of incompletion. He couldn't really breathe around the gaping void inside.

He wasn't sure who'd won, but he supposed he had. He hadn't changed, not really. And even if he had, he was still defined by his past. He was still the mistakes he'd made and someone like her was not meant to live with those wrongs and be tied to someone like him. He was a mistake and she... she was just a second chance, offered so he could rewrite the wrongs he'd done her so she could let go of the pain he'd caused her. Fate had brought him here to fix _her_ life, not his. He was inconsequential. Just like everyone who'd died in the past few days. He wondered gently if maybe he could join them. 

The fire crackled in a semblance of a response and he looked wearily at the unopened letters from his mother, pertaining to the case. The warmth in the room that had sweltered to an inferno now dropped to a light chill, leaving him feeling as ghostly and hollow as he had in the Manor. He hadn’t realised that he hadn’t felt that way in so long. The letters begged him to open them and so he did, crouching to sit on the couch they’d shared in amiable company, as civil acquaintances, as friends. The letter in his hand greeted him in a familiar arching script, so fond his heart crushed beneath the weight of the void in him that _grew_. The wetness on his face trickled down slowly, dragging past his chin and onto the parchment where it stained the ink, a single letter blossoming into a dark messy blur of a flower. He hadn’t cried since that day in the bathroom, when he’d been cursed and left for dead, bleeding out on the tile. He supposed this was worse.

Bleeding out had felt empty, devoid of inflection; the end had almost been a welcome reprieve from a world with nothing to live for.

But Granger had been something to live for. He hadn’t realised it explicitly, but she’d been a good for him, she’d been the light at the end of his tunnel, and now he’d lost her and it was worse than death itself. Loneliness, he decided, was worse a fate than death, and Granger had been right. As always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wellllll??? pls tell me your thoughts!!


	11. Invitation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back? Somehow? Thanks to my latest reviews you really pushed me to try and continue this but I super hate this chapter so don't be upset I'll trye the others better I promise please don't leave.   
> ALSO my laptop drowned and I wrote this on my phone so forgive me children for I may have made typos.

_“Crucio!”_ the girl yelled, and Harry Potter fell, crumbling like a paper doll in a strange room that was colourful as well as small.

The girl spun on her heel, swiftly pointing her wand at two more people, who groaned under her spells and writhed on the ground.

Their limbs snapped as she pushed on with a yell and the air became clouded with a thick roiling tension. None of her victims screamed out; just grit their teeth in pain as the bodies succumbed to the Unforgivables cast upon them.

She shrieked as the realisation dawned and her wand twisted as did her face. She wouldn’t be given the satisfaction of seeing them beg for mercy; they would die in silence to spite her. The room, once cosy and warm possibly, filled with familiar eerie green light, and the three bodies stilled as she wrenched out a final scream of absolute madness and _triumph-_ the Golden One was dead.

* * *

  
Draco sat up in bed, sweating and panting as if he’d run a mile, or just witnessed a murder spree. The latter sounded true, but he hadn't ever linked to the girl in his sleep. It must have been a nightmare, he told himself with shaky confidence, shuffling in bed to disentangle his feet from his silk coverlet. His heart pounded behind his ribs and his head ached dully as he crawled out of bed.

The cold wintry air hit his warm and sweaty body, immediately freezing him up from the outside, but he paid the frigid temperature no mind as he felt across his dresser for a bottle.

The tiny vial slipped his reach twice before he was able to snatch it off the dresser and bring it to his lips, uncorked. Nothing fell out of the vial, which would have been labelled Dreamless Sleep had he wanted it to be noticed and reported, and he grunted in annoyance. Tossing the small glass container aside, he rolled to his feet and stretched, cracking his back and popping something in his neck. His stomach was still knotted up in an uncomfortable mess and he hoped he wouldn’t start retching.

Seeing Potter like that... it threw him back to the Last Battle; seeing the half-giant carry the wizard's lifeless body after Narcissa had confirmed him dead and the Dark Lord had insisted he be paraded.

And it wasn't a welcome memory in the least. He feverishly hoped it had been a nightmare.

Stumbling to the door he made a mental note to ask Granger about her friends’ health and status of existence, before halting mid step.

Granger.

_Fuck._

Memories of last night came flooding back and he had to brace himself against the doorway just to breathe through it all. Why did he have to be such an arsehole to the people who tried to help him? He shuddered, feeling a sense of despair and remorse washing over him, before he tamped down on it with effort. His face was locked in a grimace that looked more frightened than anything else, and even though he managed to school his features behind the cool, practised façade, he couldn’t quite eradicate the feeling of abject _terror_ that rose within him when he contemplated Hermione Granger.

He stepped through his door warily, scanning the immediate area around him for signs of her fury. What scared him the most was the unchartered territory that was Granger hating him as a friend. She’d feel betrayed last night, or so he gathered. He wasn’t a complete moron, and although socialization was a tad beyond his general capabilities, he was able to recognize when someone was trying to tell him they liked him.

Which was the second thing that had him scared out of his wits.

Granger liked him?

That _had_ to be a joke. What in Merlin’s saggy balls was she doing liking _him?_ Him, Draco Malfoy, Pureblood failure and all-round idiot.

She was supposed to be _smart_ for Salazar’s sake. He grit his teeth against the panic welling up in his chest. Maybe she'd hide out in her room while he slipped away. He could hang around Slytherin Tower till it was safe to return, and maybe by then she’d have got over this strange attraction of hers.

He stepped out of the small corridor connecting their rooms to the bathroom door that sat midway, and out into the common area, where three faces glanced up at him in unison.

One was wary and calculating, the other smiled eagerly and the third, his favourite bushy haired menace, was as blank as Pansy Parkinson’s brain. What were two extra people doing in their common room when they had way too much to hash out between each other?

Granger just wanted to see the world _burn,_ didn’t she?

Neville nodded at him as he ventured further into the room under the presumption that Granger wouldn't kill him with witnesses around. The Gryffindor looked uncomfortable with the tension and Draco was in half a mind to apologize to him.

“Good Morning, Draco!” Luna greeted, seated to Granger's right side. “I trust your nightmares weren’t too harsh on you last night?”

Draco grunted in reply; it was too early for an ambush a la Granger.

Yet if it was an ambush... where was Patil? He was sure Granger would have better results in enlisting Patil or even Ginger to skin his arse for her instead of Longbottom and Luna- literally the nicest people they knew.

He watched Granger studiously ignore him and sighed heavily.

“That’s my chair Longbottom, don’t ruin it,” he said by ways of greeting. “I’m off to breakfast.”

“Fine,” Granger said suddenly. “I’ll just catch them up to present on my own then.”

Draco paused at the exit and frowned. “Catch them up to what?” he asked, despite himself.

“The case, what else?”

He took a deep breath to calm himself and turns around to face the others again.

“We're not enlisting their help,” he said flatly.

“Of course not,” Granger stated blankly. “I am.”

“Why?” he sputtered, fists balling at his sides.

She shrugged at his exasperated sigh and pushed a thick file into the coffee table before her little group.

“Something has been going on in school as you both know, but there’s more to it. It's a lot more complicated than you think, and we need more help figuring it out,” she told her friends.

Neville leaned forward, concerned. “Hermione... are you quite alright?”

The witch nodded silently before prodding the file again. “This is pretty concise. If you would read it?”

Neville looked unsure, but pulled it toward him without complaint. Luna crossed over to sit on the arm of his chair and peered over his shoulder to read too.

“This looks _thoroughly_ detailed,” Neville winced, skipping a few pages to flip through the whole thing.

“Forty five pages to be exact, but it’s a long story,” Hermione said, flapping her hand dismissively.

The other two exchanged worried glances and looked back to the file, seemingly giving in.

Draco scowled at the scene. Who was she to just call on her cavalry for help in something that _directly_ concerned him without even asking him about it, hostility and current anger be damned? It seemed like she didn’t care about what he thought anymore and it annoyed him to no end. The irrational anger simmered in his belly, but he didn’t let it flare up. It was his fault they were in this position anyway. Shaking his head, he turned on his heel and exited through the portrait hole in search of a peaceful breakfast.

* * *

  
The Great Hall was noisy and crowded by the time he left it, and at least a hundred young students had approached him with concerns to their safety. He had been able to tell they weren’t too pleased with having to ask him, but since Granger was absent he was the best choice. The staff table had been sparsely populated, and the few professors who had arrived for breakfast had seemed too exhausted to deal with the panicked students. He’d seen Boot being hounded by near hysterical First Years and it had been then that he’d decided to flee the area. There was nothing that would prompt him to deal with crying children. Nothing in the _world._

He strolled around the corridors stiffly, trying his best to keep a menacing scowl off his face. Half of the school's property was now off limits to ensure as much safety as was possible, and he remembered a patrol was to be organised before the Aurors arrived. Vaguely, he realised that he actually _missed_ Hagrid and his beasts. The Forest was well into the area that was out of bounds and Hagrid’s hut was outside the limits as well. The half-giant had been prompted to ward his cabin, transfer his magical creatures to special Ministry care, and move into the castle for his own safety.

The murders had escalated too far for anyone to feel right in ignoring it, but Draco still felt that what was being done wasn’t enough. He knew they couldn’t just evacuate the school until the Aurors found something of consequence except for a few dead bodies. There was after all, some kind of archaic procedure and the Ministry had to issue an edict before any drastic measure could be taken. But an evacuation was the only thing that would calm his nerves. Of course then he’d have to leave too and that _wouldn’t do,_ so he shut up about the idea and only groused about it in his head.

If only he could come up with something that McGonagall wouldn’t shoot down immediately.

He passed the grove where Alastor Moody had turned him into a ferret all those years ago, and saw three professors out in the garden area, whispering to themselves. He watched them argue about wards for a long time, before Professor Sprout won the disagreement with the idea to put up wards to detect unnecessary magic instead of walling them all in with basic protection wards.

The other professors agreed, albeit reluctantly, and Draco watched them spin their wands in intricate circular patterns, purple wisps of magic spiralling up to form intersecting circles of varying sizes with runes within them- a ward sigil- before disappearing into the air. A soft _whoomp_ sound preceded a strong gust of wind that blew Draco back a few steps, and then with a glisten of purple the wards set, glowing as it scaled over the castle walls and floors before settling into the very foundation.

Draco sighed as he turned to leave, deciding that he'd stop by the Slytherin Tower to kill more time. Granger and her new duo would be done with their meeting and probably would have moved on to discuss _plans_ and _strategy_ by now. He scowled bitterly and trudged on.

The reply to his post from yesterday had arrived with the morning post and recent edition of the Prophet; one from his mother and another older one which was sent by her as well. He hadn’t read it yet, primarily because he’d expected to receive the letter with Granger close by. Sighing at his own misfortune, he strolled past countless portraits and suits of armor until the familiar green and silver banners greeted him.

The entire area was deadly silent and he was sure all the Slytherins were locked away in their rooms, safe behind the castle’s protective magic. He’d always found it strange that the magic separating the boys and girls dorms was stronger than the protection for any other danger within the castle or its grounds. Scowling, he scuffed his shoes against the stone floor and grumbled under his breath.

Up ahead, there was a strange shuffling sound that grew louder as it drew closer, and he stiffened in response. Drawing his wand from his pocket, he had only a second to take in the sudden sight barrelling towards him from around a corner with a wand pointing at him offensively, before whipping his own forward and casting a quick disarming spell.  
Blaise’s wand sailed through the air to land comfortably in his palm, and Draco’s other hand came up to _snap_ into the other wizards face, purely out of instinct and maybe a little bitterness.

Blaise crumpled with a low groan, clearly taken by surprise and the girl behind him tottered to a stop.

“Granger?” Draco asked incredulously.

She stood there silently, waiting almost as if for Blaise to get up, and Draco scowled.

“You,” he snapped, kicking Blaise in the side when Granger continued to ignore him. “What’s going on?”

When Blaise groaned instead of answering he strode past the wizard and stopped beside the witch, glaring at her blank face.

She looked exactly like she had back in the dorm, closed off and cold. But something was wrong... very wrong. And what the hell was she doing running off with Zabini?

On the ground, Blaise choked and coughed.

Draco glanced carefully into Granger’s face with slowly rising panic, before shaking her shoulders.

“Granger, what on earth?” he snapped, while Blaise chuckled, still spread out on the floor.

Draco shot him a look of pure disgust, in half a mind to break his wand, before struggling to calm himself and think. Granger would definitely have gone after Zabini with her Gryffindor sensibilities, _inane_ questions and no one to stop her, but she wasn’t stupid enough to actually let the sleaze drag her around just to spite Draco. She wasn’t that kind of girl.

He pointed his wand at her and muttered a quick “finite incantatum” for the sake of it, a sinking feeling churning in his gut.

Granger came to with a start and a gasp, hands rising to her chest before dropping to her sides in fury, and the rage in her eyes made him step back and away.

“You!” she shrieked at Blaise, who lay on the floor coughing. “You absolute filth! What did you do to me?”

“What happened?” Draco asked carefully, inching away from her wrath.

“I was in my dorm, and we called up a house elf for breakfast and the next thing I knew I was marching out of there and all the way here!”

Blaise chuckled again, leaning on to his side as if to get up, and Draco stepped into his periphery with a commanding glare.

“Stay. Down,” he spat. “What did you do?”

“Tell me or I swear I’ll hurt you,” Hermione growled, her wand trained on the wizard on the floor.

Draco cleared his throat to catch her attention, and slowly shook his head. She frowned at his interruption but conceded and let her wand arm fall back to her side.

“Was it some kind of Imperio?” Draco asked, crouching to glare at Zabini whose mouth was dripping blood.

He had been too close to that punch, Draco realised, and as if knowing what he was thinking about, his knuckles began to sting.

“Oh piss off mate,” Blaise chortled, strangely aloof. “It was just some ‘armless fun.”

“Harmless?” Granger choked out. “You call that harmless? You brought me here against my will! And you were probably planning something terrible for me so don’t come here with tripe about ‘harmless fun’.”

Draco stared at her petite form, bristling with rage, and remembered when she'd punched him back in third year. If they hung around here too long, Blaise’s smug face might prompt her to hex him and he was sure whether hexes counted as unnecessary magic according to Pomona Sprout’s new wards.

So he bent closer to Zabini; flicked his eyes to the other man's and looked for answers.

The wizard stared back, chest heaving, eyes dilated and glassy. He spat out a little blood that dribbled down his chin, and Draco curled his lip in disgust.

 _Legilimens_ he thought strongly, and then pushed.

Blaise’s mind caved easily, opening its doors wide and welcoming him in. It was eerily empty as well as it was swimming with vague and inconsequential details. Draco drifted about in a daze before quickly gathering himself and _pushing_ onward in search of particulars. He saw the house elf, saw Zabini in the kitchens casting what looked like an Imperio on the poor creature judging by the results. He saw the potion he passed to the elf and its large eyes staring back blankly as it received the vial. The memory was fragile and tore away to be replaced with the sight of Granger walking towards the wizard with mechanical steps and dull eyes. Something niggled at Zabini’s mind and he jolted in the memory as if triggered. A thought sparked here with something like a command or a demand that Draco couldn't hear, and no sooner it had surfaced it had disappeared, lost to the void. Draco sifted past the sight of the stiff Hermione to look further, for memories of the book or thoughts of his recent suspicious activities but nothing came forth. It was as if Zabini wasn’t thinking anything at all and had never done so.

Either that or he was the most skilled Occlumens Draco had ever come across.

The thought bothered him more than he could comprehend. He pulled away and sighed.

“Stay away from us I’m warning you,” he muttered as he stood up, mostly for Granger's benefit, and took her by the arm as he turned to walk away.

Blaise chuckled after them, groaning as he failed to struggle to his feet and slumped back to the floor.

“Where are we going?” Granger asked breathlessly, stumbling behind him. “He cursed me, Malfoy! And it was dark magic, I’m sure of it. We need to tell someone!”

“And we can,” Draco sighed. “But do you _really_ want to go through the procedure McGonagall will get you to if you go to report him?”

 _Time better spent saving people in_ actual _danger,_ he thought but didn't say out loud. 

Granger sounded like she was going to say yes but she swallowed her answer when he turned around to shoot her a cool, assessing stare.

“Fine,” she stammered, looking away. “Fine forget it.”

“It wasn’t an Imperio,” he told her, feeling like she deserved to know especially since she was allowing him to haul her around despite not being on speaking terms. “It was a potion. He forced a House Elf to slip it into your meal or drink. I suppose it worked because you weren't in the Great Hall, or some would have noticed.”

Granger digested this silently. “It would have worked either way. I was with Neville and Luna and they didn’t notice.”

 _I would have_ , Draco thought but refrained from saying yet again.

“What kind of potion is that, anyway?” she asked begrudgingly, clearly upset at being forced to speak to him.

“A dark brew perhaps,” he mused aloud. “I've never heard of such a th- actually... there’s rumours of an occult church that specialises in dark brews and curses of their own making. Maybe he purchased it from them?”

“From a _rumoured_ occult church?” Granger asked sceptically as they took a corner, now walking together at a pace more comfortable for her shorter legs.

Draco shrugged, allowing himself a small smile at her disbelieving tone. He sometimes forgot Pureblood and old magic culture was foreign to her, and it was amusing to be privy to her reactions upon stumbling on one of them.

“In dark cultures, rumours are generally true and can be relied upon.”

“That makes it fact,” she muttered.

“If a bunch of people agree on something or allude to it, that doesn’t make it fact love,” he snorted, thinking about his father and everything the Dark Lord's doctrine had got wrong. “But in the case of rumours, especially regarding suppliers, potions masters, sorcerers, necromancers and such, the circles I run in would consider them to be most likely true and existing persons.”

Granger squirmed beside him and sighed heavily. “I guess.”

They walked in silence towards the Heads’ dorm, keeping their faces trained towards the ground so as to avoid each other as much as they could. Draco didn’t let go of her wrist though, and for some reason Granger didn’t protest. The skin of his palm burned where it curled around the softness o her wrist, and although it sent jolts up his arm in the strangest way, he refused to let go. It was strange.

It was weird.

He held the feeling close to his chest and pondered upon it as they neared the portrait.

“Don’t think this puts us on better terms,” Granger said suddenly, flushing red when he turned to cock a brow at her in askance.

The blush creeped down her face and neck before disappearing under her collar and he wanted to smirk devilishly at it and did so.

“What, me saving your life?” he asked dryly, grinning dangerously when she growled in annoyance. “Don’t worry Granger, I'll let you throw your tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a ta-,”

“Sure,” he smirked. “Now let’s go call down Longbottom and Lovegood before they hang themselves in guilt.”

Granger huffed in outrage behind him and he allowed a smile to himself because her anger was better than her silence and he couldn’t admit to her how much he’s missed it.

Missed her.

And she'd only ignored him for an hour or two.

Merlin he was a goner.

Inside their dorm Neville and Luna were pacing the common area with worried faces, jerking in surprise when the portrait opened to admit the Head Prefects in.

“Hermione!” Luna breathed when they caught sight of them. “Where do you rush off to? Was it the Bowtruckles?”

“You scared us so much,” Neville muttered, coming round the sofa to hug his friend.

Draco muttered glumly and moved aside, secretly annoyed that her friends hadn’t made any attempt to stop her from leaving in such a sudden way.

“We weren’t sure whether to come after you or not, you looked so mad,” Neville mumbles, looking confused. “What happened?”

“We assumed it was something I said,” Luna stated.

Draco snorted.

“Oh Draco,” Luna said, noticing him standing to the side. “Did you apologise to Hermione then?”

Draco choked on his next breath. “What?”

“Oh nevermind,” Luna waved it off, ignoring Neville’s perplexed stare and Granger's red face. “Something about her aura... hmm. It’s alright. Did you two find Blaise?”

“Blaise?” Neville asked in askance. “You went to look for Blaise? Why?”

“Actually,” Granger cleared her throat, her skin finally free of the pretty flush. “He found me, in a man me of speaking.”

“He slipped Granger a dose of something that convinced her to go in search of him,” Draco added gruffly, internally berating himself for considering her blush anything remotely attractive.

“That’s awful,” Luna gasped.

Neville followed them to sit on the couches by the hearth and frowned into the fire-less fireplace. “So something like a love potion?”

“No!” Granger denied vehemently, hair bouncing as she shook her head.

“I mean in the way that it can control you without being a curse or some such magic,” Neville proffered colouring deeply. “Principally similar in terms of method of affection while its intentions remain widely different.”

“That’s the smartest thing I’ve heard you say, Longbottom,” Draco said suddenly.

“Oh, lay off,” Hermione sighed.

“It’s Neville,” the other reminded him with a wary smile.

“At least he got that it was a joke,” Draco mumbled, before spotting the open folder and looking up to the others. “So you’re all caught up?”

Luna jolted as if remembering and closed her eyes. “Oh yes... that’s just terrible what's been going on.”

“You ok Malfoy?” Neville asked, looking uncomfortable. “Being like to a murderer is not quite a walk in the park I assume.”

Draco nodded stiffly and looked away.

“Luna's dreamcatcher helped some,” he explained. “But it’s not really helping if it just blocks out potential victims. I had to throw it away.”

Luna nodded understandingly. “It was only meant for a temporary reprieve.”

“I thought you said it was for my _stomach?”_ Draco frowned, causing the tension in the room to lighten considerably.

“The Fates are never unkind,” Luna replied cryptically. “Just determined.”

“So what now?” Neville asked, leaning forward with a wry grin that he directed at Luna. “What do we do?”

“We can’t wait for another vision that's for sure,” Granger speaks up, avoiding Draco's gaze.

“What about Potter and Weasley’s case?” he asked suddenly, remembering his awful ‘nightmare’. “Have they sent word about anything?”

Granger looked up at him almost automatically, frowning. “Yes... why?”

“What time?”

“After you left today morning. Harry's patronus sent a message cause they knew I'd worry. Again... _why?”_

“There could be a clue. What did they say?” Draco shrugged, tensely waiting for her answer.

“Well,” she said slowly. “Gringotts was attacked sometime yesterday with barely any discretion. They say it was just a group of Voldemort enthusiasts who wanted to send a message against Kingsley’s new policies.”

“Is that was _they_ said or what the Ministry thinks?” Draco asked, frowning slightly.

“Why does it matter?” Granger asked with a huff.

“Well first off, Potter is alive and that’s good-,”

“What does _that_ mean?” Neville asked.

“-and secondly, it does matter immensely because that could be key to what's going on here,” Draco finished.

“They get threats like this all the time, Malfoy,” Granger said, raising a brow.

“True,” he conceded. “But such obvious and extravagant shows of aggression are not simply _messages._ A group wouldn’t out themselves with one failed attack.”

“Now the Ministry knows they’re there,” Luna added, nodding slowly. “It was a waste.”

“They could just be weak protesters,” Granger countered lamely.

“That were able to blow up the entire facade of one of the most protected buildings in Wizarding London?” Draco asked. “I don’t think so.”

Granger was staring at him oddly and he slowly figured out her concern.

“I saw it in the Prophet at breakfast. Why would someone go through all the trouble to blow up half the entrance spectacularly and then let the rest of the plan go tits up?”

“To make a statement,” Granger said slowly. “Like I said before.”

“But that’s the wrong statement,” Neville muttered. “This is like how the Death Eaters used to break into Ministry buildings and leave the dark mark over them. Just to show they could get in if they really wanted. To show that nowhere was safe.”

“It’s a show of power,” Luna surmised. “Very clever Draco.”

“If you knew about the details from the paper why did you ask?” Granger sighed heavily, frowning at him pointedly. “Was this about Harry?”

Draco opened his mouth and closed it, so intent he had been on explaining his idea that he hadn’t thought to cover his concern for the Dunder duo.

“It was!” Granger gasped. “Did you have a vision?”

“Not really,” he hedged.

“Draco Malfoy so help me,” she scowled. “Did you or did you not have a vision about my friends?”

“It was more of a nightmare,” he said. “Considering they’re alive.”

Granger’s eyes bugged out and she groaned. “You saw my friends die and didn’t think to tell me?”

“You were angry!”

“What if they’d died?”

“Well they didn't!”

“No thanks to you!”

“Hermione we all know he’s sorry,” Luna interrupted smoothly. “Can’t you see it in his eyes?”

Draco scowled and looked away.

“Anyway,” Neville drawled, hiding a laugh. “If you two are quite done with your squabbling, we could send a letter to Harry and see if they’re alright, and also figure out what this crazy group has to do with us or the case.”

Luna nodded. “Good thinking, Neville,” she smiled. “Hermione get your parchment and ink for the letter and Draco, tell us why you were suspicious about this attack in the first place.”

“Well,” Draco began, curiously watching Granger stomp away at Luna's command. “Initially I thought nothing of it, until I used Legilimency on Blaise to figure out what he’d done to Hermione.”

“You did what?” Granger demanded, scowling as she sat down with her supplies.

“Get over it, Granger,” he said. “He deserved it. What matters really is that his mind was bone dry, with a few choice memories and basic thought floating about. I didn’t get it at first, but a lot of it must be fabricated lest he slip up and reveal what he’s here for.”

“And what’s that?” Neville asked.

“I- I’m not sure. But he's been Obliviated so many times his mind is unstable. His thoughts are so fragile they tore apart just by me looking at them. Someone did this to him, and planted whatever they wanted him to do inside his head so he’d do those select things. They’re using him!”

“Like a vessel,” Luna mused aloud. “A vessel to their bidding.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Granger snorted uncertainly. “I mean I’m just trying to be logical- how exactly did we jump to that conclusion?”

“Who Obliviated him then?” Draco asked.

“And remember the big plan he was talking about? He was rambling on about being chosen, about me being chosen, about a ‘they’ who knew where I lived and stuff like that. I’m guessing he got in with some people who messed him up real bad but when he started going crazy they had to wipe him up and use him on a clear slate.”

“He did stalk us,” Hermione gave in slowly, considering the idea. “Didn't you say he checked up on you that time in the library?”

Draco thought back to the day Millicent had died. “Yeah... but that was a weird conversation. He wanted to make sure I wasn't up to something terrible.”

“Classic reverse psychology,” Neville offered, clearly uneasy despite his confident words. “He was probably trying to scope whether you were doing something he wanted you to do!”

“Wait who says he was _after_ Draco?” Hermione interjected exasperatedly.

“He _did_ stalk him,” Luna reminded them. “And check up on you like he’s looking for progress.”

“This has nothing to do with our killer I presume?” Neville asked suddenly. “I’m sorry... I’m just really confused.”

“No,” Draco said, taking a deep breath. “Not really. I don’t think so.”

Hermione glowered at the three of them before scoffing and crossing her arms. “I think that was way too much presumption. We know nothing about what Blaise is up to and we can’t afford to assume anything about him. All we know is that he tried to kidnap me or something... speaking of which- I'm throwing that out.”

She marched over to where their breakfast sat, barely touched, and picked up a goblet of pumpkin juice before stalking to the kitchenette, presumably to throw it in the sink. Draco watched her go with a frown.

“Wait a minute,” he mumbled. “If you were under the influence of a potion, how did a Finite Incantatum work?”

Neville opened his mouth in agreement, but was cut short when Granger returned with a shout.

“Draco look!” she insisted, holding out her palm with a fiery gaze.

He did so, frowning when he caught sight of the odd piece of jewellery. “It’s nice?”

“It was in my pumpkin juice,” she retorted, rolling her eyes as she held out the object for the others to see. “This is what cursed me, not the actual juice itself. When I touched the cup, it must have triggered the object and the curse within it.”

“So it _was_ an Imperio?” Neville asked in confusion.

“Probably,” Granger said in excitement. “But that’s not the point. The point is-,”

“That’s a talisman,” Draco finished, looking at her in awe as she grinned back, clearly ecstatic.

“This is our break!” she told Neville excitedly as the other Gryffindor just mouthed the word how in agonized silence.

“A Talisman is a magical object capable of storing a spell or curse till it is released upon whoever triggers it,” Luna explained calmly. “That’s why Draco was able to end the effects of the curse with a counter spell.”

Draco chuckled to himself at that; he really hadn't even thought far, and good thing too. Luck rarely ever ran his way, but some how it had today and he was thankful. Letting Granger get hurt due to a knock off Imperio would’ve been rough.

“Draco, oh my god, the book!” said witch exclaimed suddenly, placing the talisman carefully upon the table before glancing up at him, stricken. “Blaise’s book- the one he his in the library and as looking for. What if that was a talisman too?”

“And if so what of it?” Draco sighed tiredly. “We're still stuck with nothing to go on, Granger. Just like you said.”

The witch deflated slightly, saying "Sometimes I hate my own logic" and Draco sighed internally a second time. He hadn’t missed that she’d reverted to calling him by his first name in her excitement, but he hadn’t felt that she’d forgiven him enough to allow him to call her by her own. The resignation he caught in her eyes at hearing her surname was almost enough to propel him to apologize right then and there, except she’d picked herself up by that point and was already heading to the door.

“Nev, Luna, come on,” she said jauntily, talisman clutched in her palm again. “We Have to find Blaise and get him to tell us what's going on.”

“What about the girl?” Neville asked.

“Things will come to us in time,” Luna said, patting his arm as they left through the portrait.

“You too, Malfoy,” Granger added carefully, peering back in to tilt her head at him. “Don’t think you can leave me to do all the dirty work.”

“No ma'am,” he smirked, nodding at her in agreement.

She looked like she was about to reply snarkily before she caught herself, nodding tightly as he rose, taking to his feet and following after her with a strange sense of unsettling discontent and vague fulfilment. 

* * *

 

They’d strolled through dozens of corridors, following Granger's map as they went, when Neville spoke up next; breaking out of the deep thought he'd sunk into with a satisfied cheer.

“Alright you lot, I’ve got it. So there’s Zabini who may or may not be involved with a secret cult that's planning an insurrection but is toying with the Ministry for now just to flaunt their power and influence. He’s been stalking Draco for some time and is oddly concerned about a book of his that Gin and I caught him planting in the library- sort of. He also used a talisman to try and kidnap ‘Mione which leads us to think he may have also had other talismans, like this book- the purpose of which we are unaware of.  
   “Buuut... he’s also mind-wiped so the bad guys can use him as some sort of vessel and there’s also this mind link that Draco has to a killer that is on a murder spree within Hogwarts. Is that it?”

Luna laughed, bright and cheerful, and smiled at Neville with shining eyes. “Well done, Nev. You really oh it into perspective.”

“Sounds like the Third Wizarding War I you ask me,” Neville muttered in conern, bashfully avoiding the Ravenclaw's infectious grin.

“Not if we can help it,” Granger said confidently, and she was so sure, so, so sure, that Draco nearly agreed with her out loud.

Except his head split in two and his vision swam as reality blurred and something more slipped inbetween. He heard Granger call out in concern but her voice was lost in the strange new sensations and replaced with another, more sinister, more chilling drawl.

 _I know you’re there_ she said and his eyes opened to the Battle of Hogwarts.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Thoughts???   
> Should they just kiss????   
> Or have babies??????   
> We should take a show of hands for smut. Everybody in favour say smexy


End file.
